


Higher Education

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [27]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Found Family, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, they were roomates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 74,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: Ancel is a college student living with a shitty boyfriend and working nights at the strip club downtown. Professor Berenger is a sadistic bastard and his 8am lit class is ruining Ancel’s entire life.(Or at least that’s how it starts)
Relationships: Ancel & Alfonse, Ancel & Laurent, Ancel & Nicaise, Ancel/Berenger (Captive Prince)
Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455904
Comments: 1095
Kudos: 547





	1. he hyperventilated at a hydrangea

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a doozy guys! I'm aiming to update once a week while I finish writing, but maybe once I'm done updates will come faster. I'll be updating tags as I go and there will be sex... eventually ;)
> 
> While this is meant to be set in modern New Artes, it is full of Americanisms and I am sorry but I'm gonna go ahead and keep my Thanksgiving and Halloween shenanigans. I’m also going to play it fast and loose in general because this fic is mostly meant to just be fun and nice. Although there will be a sprinkling of angst, as per usual!
> 
> Thank you to [Salt_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salt_Queen/) for betaing!!!

* * *

Ancel jerked awake to the sound of shuffling footsteps and laughter, books slamming closed.

_Fuck._

He lifted his head from his notepad, where he’d drooled a little- _fuck-_ and looked around to see the rest of his class leaving.

Had he mentioned- _fuck?!_

He’d done the readings, too. He’d had enough time between sets at the club, had spent hours squinting at the dense print outs with his phone screen as the main form of illumination. He’d been ready for the class discussion, so ready (for once) and now here he was, fucked again.

He stood with a wince and made his way out, trailing after the last of the stragglers.

“Mr. Sanpelier.”

Ancel flinched at the calm voice even as he slapped a smile on his face and turned back, sauntering over to where his professor was still sitting behind his desk.

He could still salvage this, he knew he could. He timed it carefully so the last of the students had gone by the time he perched on the edge of Professor Berenger’s desk and made a point of leaning back, crossing his legs.

“We need to talk about your performance,” Berenger said with a frown.

“My performance?” Ancel asked lightly.

“You’ve fallen asleep during every class for the past two weeks,” Berenger said, “that is- when you’ve bothered to show up at all.”

“Oh dear,” Ancel said, moving to spread his legs invitingly. He widened his eyes in a mockery of innocence even as he let a smirk curl over his lips. He watched carefully as Berenger’s face went through a whole host of emotions- shock, confusion, annoyance, _desire-_

That was it.

“Maybe I could make it up to you somehow,” Ancel purred, fluttering his lashes despite how tired he was. _“Professor.”_

“Mr. Sanpelier-” Berenger said, his voice deceptively even.

“Ancel,” Ancel said. “Surely we can work something out. I just… have such difficulty paying attention in class. Maybe… a one on one session would work better for me?” He made a show of licking his lips, looking Berenger up and down.

He wasn’t bad looking for a professor, even despite his plain shapeless clothing. He was certainly younger than Ancel’s current boyfriend. More handsome, too. It wouldn’t be a hardship at all to fuck him, suck him off, let him spank him, whatever. If it would earn him an A and let him keep his scholarship? He’d done more for less.

“Maybe you’d have an easier time staying awake if you didn’t party all night,” Berenger said coldly, clearly not impressed.

Ancel frowned, stiffening despite himself. “Excuse me?”

“You have glitter in your hair,” Berenger said matter-of-factly. “And you reek of smoke and alcohol. It’s Wednesday morning, Mr. Sanpelier.”

Ancel flushed at the clear disapproval in his expression, all signs of desire gone. His shift at the club had run late last night and he’d missed the last subway. He’d had to take the bus home instead, which took twice as long, so he hadn’t had time to shower and change.

He’d be damned if he explained all that to _Berenger,_ of all people. The stuffiest literature professor in the college whose classes were all at eight in the morning. He was a goddamn sadist.

“Let’s make a deal,” Ancel tried once more. “You’ll give me an A and I’ll give you-”

His attempts to trail his foot up the inside of Berenger’s thigh were cut short when Berenger pushed his chair back from his desk and stood with a scowl.

“Stop.”

Ancel scowled too. He couldn’t fail this class. He _couldn’t._ He’d lose his scholarship and then he’d be fucked forever and he wouldn’t let that happen, no matter what.

“What will the administration say?” he hissed, his hands gripping the edge of Berenger’s desk. “When I tell them you came on to me? Who will they believe?”

Ancel was sexy, irresistible. Berenger was… Berenger. He scowled up into Berenger’s face, waiting for him to break. And then-

“If you’re trying to threaten me, Mr. Sanpelier,” Berenger said, his voice as cold as ice, “then I suggest you stop.”

Ancel glared back even as a shiver ran down his spine.

“Despite what you might believe,” Berenger continued, “I wish for you to excel in my class. If there is something preventing you from doing so, we can discuss-”

“Fuck you,” Ancel hissed, storming out before he knew what he was doing.

He had to pause outside and lean on a bench as he hyperventilated at a hydrangea.

He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up and _threatened_ his professor and- and-

Oh god.

He was trembling as he sank down onto the bench and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, fighting to calm down.

He’d been doing so well. So so well. He’d been doing fantastic. And then his stupid scholarship had been late coming in so he’d been late registering for classes and gotten stuck with _Berenger,_ the worst professor of all.

He could have handled it. It was one semester. He could have just… foregone sleep altogether and _handled_ it but instead he’d gotten into a fight with his _Professor_ and now he was fucked.

_Fucked!_

Fuck.

Ancel tried desperately to think of some way out of this.

There was no way out of this.

The best he could do was stay awake during the next class and try to earn his participation grade but he was so fucking _tired_ in the mornings that he barely knew which way was up and which was down. He’d been trying so hard and still- and still-

If he got less than a B in Berenger’s class he’d lose his scholarship.

Now that they’d had their awful conversation Berenger would fail him anyways.

Ancel groaned, shutting his eyes against the too-bright sun.

He was fucked.

* * *

Ancel continued doing his best to attend Berenger’s classes.

He continued to fall asleep only to wake in time to glance guiltily at Berenger as he shuffled out of the room. It was fucked. He was fucked.

The rest of the week passed in a tense truce and by next Friday Ancel had almost managed to forget about the whole thing. He had a dinner meeting with his Biology lab partner, an attractive young man named Aimeric, to write their lab report.

Their meeting ran long. Aimeric was cute and funny and most importantly, _rich._ He had an apartment off campus- paid for by daddy's money, of course- and if Ancel played his cards right maybe they could fuck. Maybe they could get together and Ancel could move in, ditching Louans once and for all.

After dinner Ancel suggested they go back to Aimeric’s place and they finished their report. And then Aimeric pulled out his bong and they smoked chalis and had a few beers and it was great, really. Aimeric was staring at him with a blush over his cheeks and hearts in his eyes and Ancel leaned in a little to seal the deal-

Which was when he caught sight of the clock glaring accusingly at him from under the TV and swore as he pulled back.

“Fuck,” Ancel hissed.

“What's wrong?” Aimeric asked, frowning faintly.

“I'm running late for work,” Ancel said. He managed a small smile through the panic and patted Aimeric on the cheek. “But this was fun, darling.”

Aimeric flushed and Ancel tried not to rush too obviously as he left, his heart pounding.

Aimeric's place was too far away from the subway but there was a bus stop nearby. He could almost just make it-

Ancel cursed when he saw the bus was already there, jogging towards it pointlessly even as he watched it pull away from the curb.

“Fuck!” he gasped before sitting down hard on the bench and groaning as he buried his face in his hands.

He could call a cab but he couldn't afford it at the moment, having paid Louans rent just the day before. He was too afraid to look at the bus schedule to see when the next one would arrive. He was going to be late, which meant he'd be fined or worse- _fired._ And then what the hell was he supposed to do?

He heard the crunch of tires on gravel. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a fancy black sedan pulling up in front of him.

Great.

Just what he needed right now, some fuck boy hollering at him.

There was a sound of a car door opening, approaching footsteps.

“Ancel?” came a painfully familiar voice.

This wasn't his life. Ancel screwed his eyes shut and stifled a groan.

“Ancel.”

Ancel dragged his hands away from his face, finally looking up into the quizzical expression of Professor _fucking_ Berenger.

“Not Mr. Sanpelier?” Ancel asked snidely.

“We're not in the classroom,” Berenger said. “Is something the matter?”

 _Is something-_ Ancel huffed out a frustrated sigh. It's not like things could get worse if he told Berenger the truth. “I missed the bus.”

“Ah,” Berenger said, clearly confused.

“I _missed,”_ Ancel said, “the _bus._ So I’m going to be late to my shift, and I'll probably be fired, and then I'll be completely fucked!” His voice rose by the end until he was practically yelling, but something in Berenger's incomprehensible expression shifted towards understanding.

“What?” Ancel snarled as Berenger stayed silent.

“Nothing,” Berenger said. “I just- I think I'm starting to understand now.”

“Understand _what.”_

Ancel knew his expression was unpleasant and his tone only more so, but Berenger remained nonplussed as he motioned awkwardly toward the car.

“I could give you a ride.”

Ancel didn't have the energy to make it into an innuendo. He was just… tired.

“You don't want to do that,” he said quietly, staring at his feet as he toed at the dirt. 

He couldn't imagine his straight laced professor within a mile of the club, much less in the parking lot. The sign was two men fucking in bright glaring neon. He’d probably never seen two men fucking, not even in a picture. He probably had a wife and two-point-five children at home and a yappy terrier. He'd probably see the sign and blush so hard he'd pass out and then they'd crash and both end up in the hospital, or better yet- dead.

“I want to help,” Berenger said.

Ancel squinted up at him, angry all over again. “Fine,” he said, standing. He wasn't ashamed of what he did, what he was. If Berenger wanted to help him then he could damn well help him.

Ancel climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt before folding his hands in his lap and staring resolutely straight ahead. Berenger climbed in too, starting the engine.

“Where to?”

Ancel gave some vague directions before turning to look out the window.

For a while there was only uncomfortable silence. Ancel wished Berenger would just turn on the radio, but he refused like the square he was.

“I'm sorry,” Ancel blurted out at last. He shut his eyes, fidgeting with his fingers. “About- you know. It was stupid. I just-” he screwed his eyes shut tighter. “I just really need you to give me an A. Or a B. That would work too.”

“I don't _give_ grades,” Berenger said slowly. “You earn-”

“Yeah, right,” Ancel breathed out, his voice coming out shuddery. “I just had to get _you,_ didn't I.”

“If you hate me so much, why did you sign up for my class?”

Ancel chanced a glance over only to see Berenger staring straight ahead, his hands at ten and two on the wheel. Textbook, of course.

Ancel wasn't sure what to say, how much to reveal. He looked away, worrying at his lip. “I didn't have a choice,” he muttered. “I was late to registration and your class was the only lit class left. Shocker- no one wants an eight am.”

He snuck another glance to see Berenger's lips thinning into an expression that resembled contrition.

“All my other classes are in the afternoon,” Ancel said. “So I can catch a nap after work.”

“You could switch to the day shift,” Berenger suggested.

Ancel rolled his eyes, even though the chance that Berenger saw him was approximately zero. “The sort of work I do doesn't have a day shift.”

“...Ah.”

Ancel couldn't help but smirk. “Well?” He taunted. “Have you changed your mind about driving me to work?”

“Yes,” Berenger said. “I assume you know how to tuck and roll?” 

The corner of his mouth quirked up and Ancel couldn't help a startled laugh. “So you have a sense of humor after all.”

“I _am_ human.”

“If you say so,” Ancel said, looking out the window at the passing lights.

“I looked up your transcript,” Berenger said after a while. “You’re smart. You’re doing well. I could help you get a TA position if you liked.”

Ancel swallowed hard, not looking at him. “I’ve looked into it,” he said at last. “It’s- it wouldn’t be enough.”

“What if-”

“Stop it,” Ancel hissed. “You think you’re so clever that you’re going to suggest something I haven’t considered before?”

Berenger stayed silent and that was oddly satisfying.

“You’re right,” Ancel said. “I am smart. This is the best I can do. So fuck off. Turn left.”

Berenger turned left.

“It’s up ahead,” Ancel said as the club’s lights came into view. He pointed. “There.”

Berenger pulled up into the parking lot without protest.

“Thanks,” Ancel muttered, unhooking his seatbelt. “See you monday, Professor.” He made a point of turning towards Berenger and grinning slyly. “Unless you want to come inside? The first lap dance is on me, but after that you have to pay just like everyone else.”

He left before Berenger had a chance to reply.

He made his way into the club- fifteen minutes early, thankfully- and had time to change and fix his hair and makeup before his set.

The Friday night crowd was rowdy and Ancel focused on his work- dancing, shaking his ass, flirting. It was what he was good at.

He made decent tips and didn’t even complain when his shift ran long when a few regulars decided to overstay their welcome.

He didn’t think of Berenger at all, not until he left to see a familiar black sedan in the parking lot, glinting in the pre-dawn light. Berenger was standing outside, leaning against the door with his hands in his pants pockets as he stared up at the lightening sky.

“Did you stay for the show?” Ancel asked, walking closer.

“No,” Berenger said. “That would be highly inappropriate.”

“So you’ve just been lurking out here the whole time.”

“Lurking is such a charged word,” Berenger said with that faint curl of his lips that suggested a smile. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking about what.”

“I was thinking you might like a ride home.”

Ancel sighed. It would be nice not to be stuck on the subway for the next half hour. He was exhausted and this wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep and had to make the trek home over three separate bus lines afterwards.

“Fine,” he muttered, climbing into Berenger’s car.

Berenger stifled a yawn before starting the engine, waiting for Ancel’s instructions. And then they were driving and Ancel just wanted to _sleep_ and-

“You have a scholarship,” Berenger said quietly. “Why are you putting it at risk to-”

“It only covers tuition,” Ancel bit out, angry once more. “And I’ll lose that too if you don’t-”

“Ancel,” Berenger said sharply, cutting him off. “In light of your situation- you can make up your class participation score by coming to my office hours. We’ll discuss the material and I’ll-”

“If that was an option I would have suggested it _before_ I offered to fuck you,” Ancel said, the words coming out as a near snarl. “I have other classes then.” He knew full well that Berenger had office hours from noon to two. He couldn’t skip his other classes just to keep his Lit Prof happy.

“I see,” Berenger said before staying silent for a blissful ten minutes.

“Pull over here,” Ancel said at last.

“Here?” Berenger asked, even as he pulled over into the empty parking lot of a closed pharmacy.

“Yeah,” Ancel muttered. He was too tired for social niceties. He’d been awake for almost two days straight and he had no patience for social niceties anymore. “If my boyfriend sees me getting out of another man’s car, he’ll throw a fit.”

“Ancel,” Berenger said, oddly insistent.

Ancel looked over to see he was offering up what looked like a dog tag in the shape of a blue star and dangling from it- a key. Numbly, he took it.

“I realize this isn’t ideal,” Berenger said. “But I have a spare room, and-”

Ancel laughed. “Couldn’t I just suck you off and be done with it? Do I have to be your live-in fuck boy for you to-”

“That’s not what this is,” Berenger said firmly. “Your scholarship covers tuition. I can offer you room and board. No charge. Just- you’re a smart young man, Ancel. You can do well- I know you can. I want you to do well. I want you to stay awake in class, and-”

Ancel sighed sharply, absently tucking the key into his pocket before reaching for the door handle. “I want you to kindly fuck off,” he said, climbing out of the car.

“Ancel-” Berenger tried.

Ancel shut the door and stormed away.


	2. a text message from Aimeric

* * *

“Give me a red bull,” Ancel said to the bartender at his club.

“Really, Red?” Lazar asked, raising his eyebrow. “It’s six in the morning.”

Ancel raised his eyebrow too and Lazar shrugged, grabbing one out of the back and bringing it out.

Ancel waited impatiently, taking a glance around the near-empty club.

At fifteen he’d run away from home and halfway across the country. At sixteen he’d burned down his shitty foster family’s house and gotten away with it. At seventeen he’d gotten a fake ID and started stripping- all while maintaining a three-point-eight grade point average, a near-perfect score on the SAT’s, and getting a choice scholarship to a top college.

He wasn’t going to let one stuffy professor derail everything he’d worked for.

He was Ancel _fucking_ Sanpelier.

He chugged the red bull.

That day in class he sat defiantly with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Berenger as he answered every single one of his discussion questions, barely letting anyone else in the class get a word in because fuck them. He was making a point. He didn’t need Berenger’s judgement or his charity.

The artificial jittery energy started to fade by the end of class though, and then he fell asleep at the library and missed two of the other three classes he had that day. So that wasn’t ideal. But missing once wouldn’t hurt his grade so he let himself off the hook for that.

Next time he drank another energy drink after Berenger’s class, and made it through his other classes, but then he felt so awful afterwards he called out sick from work and dragged himself home instead. Clearly he hadn’t quite figured this whole thing out, but he would. He was Ancel Sanpelier, dammit.

At least things with Aimeric were going in a positive direction. Ancel arranged for a study date and hit on him relentlessly, watching as his pale face grew redder and redder and eventually they made out a little, though Ancel pulled back when Aimeric tried to go further. He couldn’t give it all up on the first date. This wasn’t a hookup, Ancel meant business.

On Friday he was back to falling asleep in Berenger’s class despite the energy drinks and he couldn’t help feeling particularly defeated as he shuffled out after, not meeting Berenger’s eyes.

The patrons at the club were rowdier than usual- the Friday crowd always was- so at least he made good money. He was tired but not out for the count when he came home and got into the shower, washing sleepily as he daydreamed about climbing into bed at last.

So of course when he got out of the shower and went into the bedroom it was to see that Louans was awake despite the fact that it was barely eight in the morning on a Saturday. And he was holding Ancel’s phone.

He looked up slowly, glaring, and Ancel took an involuntary step back.

“What the fuck is this?” Louans demanded, tossing the phone to him.

Ancel moved to catch it by instinct, nearly fumbling the damn thing with his damp fingers, but then he was looking at the screen and- a text message from Aimeric. Who he’d saved as Hottie #6 in his phone.

_Hottie #6: what u doin tonite? Wanna cum over? ;)_

“Are you fucking around behind my back?” Louans asked, his voice shaking with anger.

“I-” Ancel started, mind racing. Louans had a jealous streak, he’d known that already. But he was harmless, easy enough to manipulate. “I have no idea-”

“Yeah you do, you fucking slut,” Louans hissed. “And after everything I did for you? Letting you live here-”

“I pay rent,” Ancel hissed back, indignant. “I clean. I suck your ugly wrinkly _cock-”_

“Shut up, you whore,” Louans yelled. He closed the distance faster than a man his age should have been able to and raised his hand. Ancel could only stare in disbelief as Louans’ hand came down and then the side of his face exploded in pain.

Ancel saw red.

He shoved Louans hard in the chest, hard enough that he stumbled a few steps backwards. The back of his knees hit the bed and he sat down with a surprised little _oof,_ his eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” Louans said, suddenly timid.

Ancel raised his hand to his smarting cheek. The last time someone had hit him he’d burned their house down.

“Oh my god,” Louans said.

Ancel couldn’t burn down Louans’ house because he couldn’t exactly skip town in the middle of the semester. There was probably some clause in his scholarship that said he’d have to pay the money back or something if he dropped out, and he couldn’t afford that. Also it was an apartment, and it hardly seemed fair to the other tenants to burn down the whole building.

“Oh my god,” Louans said.

“I’m leaving,” Ancel said, his voice coming out flat and cold.

“Ancel,” Louans said.

“No,” Ancel said, pointing a finger at him. “Not another word.”

“Ancel-” Louans said.

Ancel ignored him as he dressed and stuffed the rest of what few things he kept at Louans’ place into an old duffel, not listening to Louans’ attempts to apologize.

He left the apartment without a second glance only to pause when he got outside, blinking slowly up at the overcast sky. Great. It was about to fucking rain.

He started walking before he knew where he was going, his mind racing. He had enough money to get a hotel for a few days, maybe. And then what? What was he supposed to do then?

It was true Louans had charged rent, but it had been way less than paying rent somewhere he _wasn’t_ fucking the landlord. He could call Aimeric, maybe. Go over there, hook up, sleep over until he had to go back to work. They could hook up again the next night, and the next, and before Aimeric knew it Ancel would have moved in and he wouldn’t have even noticed. He was a bit dumb like that.

But suddenly the thought of Aimeric turned Ancel’s stomach. It was his fault Ancel was in this mess in the first place.

He tried to think of some friend who’d let him crash on their couch. Lazar was out, he was already crashing on someone else's couch. The other people working at the club didn’t like Ancel too much because he was the most popular dancer and got the most tips. He wasn’t close with any classmates. And wasn’t that fucking depressing.

Ancel stopped in the middle of the sidewalk as he abruptly realized he didn’t have any friends. He didn’t exactly have time for friends, between school and work, but still.

Pathetic.

“Fuck,” Ancel said as he watched the first raindrops darkening the sidewalk in front of him. That was just fantastic.

There was a bench close by and he walked over to it. He was so tired. He hadn’t slept since the quick nap he’d taken yesterday afternoon and now it was morning-o-clock on Saturday and he was suddenly homeless.

He sat down on the bench with a sigh only to jerk when something in his pants pocket poked him in the thigh. He’d just grabbed the first pants he could reach, he hadn’t worn them in at least a week. Reaching into his pocket, Ancel felt a strange metal shape and pulled it out.

A blue metal dog tag in the shape of a star, and hanging from it, a key.

It took Ancel a second to remember what he was even looking at before he flushed and looked away, closing his hand around Berenger’s house key.

It was stupid. He couldn’t.

Could he?

No. Berenger hadn’t been serious. Only a crazy person would offer something like that- free room and board to their most delinquent student. Ancel made a point of not living with crazy people.

The rain started to come down harder and Ancel shivered. It wasn’t exactly warm outside and now he was getting wet, too.

He looked at the key again. Was it really that crazy?

He could just stay for a few days, maybe. Just until he figured something else out. Or at least he could call Berenger’s bluff and call him an asshole.

He turned over the dog tag. There was an address engraved on the other side of it. It wasn’t that far away. Ancel could walk there, probably. It was only a few blocks away from campus, a nice neighborhood close to downtown.

Ancel shivered again.

Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly, but it seemed like this was the only plan he had.

He stood and started walking as the rain picked up. He should have stolen Louans’ rain jacket.

It took maybe twenty minutes to walk to the address on the key, by which point he was completely soaked, his jeans chafing painfully with each step. Finally he found himself staring up at a stately brownstone townhouse, still clutching the key like a security blanket.

It seemed a bit presumptuous to just unlock the door so he climbed the steps and knocked instead, wrapping his arms around himself while he waited.

Only a few seconds passed before the door opened. Ancel had been expecting Professor Berenger. Instead there was a pretty young blonde who looked about Ancel’s age. Pretty didn’t really cut it. He was _striking._

“Can I help you?” he asked, running his icy blue eyes critically down Ancel’s body.

Was this some sort of joke? Had Berenger made a mistake writing down his own address? Was this a prank?

Ancel felt tears prickling at his eyes as his last lifeline dissolved before him. “No,” he whispered at last. “Wrong address.”

He turned to leave. Maybe he could go to the library or something, try to dry off a bit. He had a change of clothes at the club anyway. Maybe he could sleep there tonight. Or something.

“Wait,” the blonde said and Ancel paused, turning back. “I know you. You’re a student, right?”

“Yeah,” Ancel muttered.

“I think we have psych together.”

Ancel shrugged. 

“You look awful,” the blonde said.

There were footsteps approaching from inside the house.

“Laurent? Who’s at the door?”

Ancel’s knees nearly gave out in relief when Berenger stepped up beside the blonde- Laurent- and looked at him. He wasn’t wearing the ugly brown suits he usually wore to class. He had on a pair of charcoal gray slacks and a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He was holding a dish towel and wiping his hands. He was wearing bunny slippers. They were baby blue and had eyes and noses and little ears and everything.

“I think it’s for you,” Laurent said, retreating back into the house without another word.

“Ancel?” Berenger said uncertainly.

“Um,” Ancel said. He couldn’t seem to look away from Berenger’s slippers, like that was the strangest thing about this whole crazy situation. “Can- can I-” he couldn’t quite force the words out but it didn’t seem to matter.

“Come inside,” Berenger said, stepping aside and opening the door wider. He told Ancel to take off his shoes, which he did in a daze. 

He was in some sort of entrance hall. There was a library masquerading as a living room to his right, the walls lined with bookshelves. There were a few fancy leather couches set up around a coffee table and an honest to god fireplace, with real fire burning in it and everything. To Ancel’s left was a kitchen gleaming with black marble and copper accents. There was a large kitchen island in the middle, surrounded by stools that looked like something out of a modern art gallery. The counter was strewn with the remains of what must have been a lavish breakfast.

“Are you hungry?” Berenger asked.

Ancel shook his head.

“Alright, come along then,” Berenger said, motioning to the stairs. “I’ll show you your room.”

The stairs creaked as they went up one flight. There was another, but Berenger didn’t take it, leading him down the hall and past a few doors instead. “The bathroom,” he said, motioning to one of them. “I’m afraid you’ll have to share.”

Ancel followed him to the end of the hall, the last door. Berenger pushed it open to reveal a small clean room, simply decorated. There was a queen size bed in the corner made up with fresh cotton sheets. There was a nightstand beside it with a lamp and a clock, and a dressing table by the door. There was a walk-in closet, too.

“Here.”

Ancel turned to see that Laurent had returned and was offering up a bundle of cloth- dry clothes.

“We’re about the same size,” Laurent said. “You can keep those.”

“Leave your wet things outside the door and I’ll put them in the dryer,” Berenger said.

Ancel stared at him for a moment. Laurent had already wandered off like a bored house cat.

“Is there anything else you need right now?” Berenger asked.

A hug, maybe. Ancel felt dangerously close to crying as he screwed his face up into an approximation of a smile. “No,” he managed at last. “Um. Thank you.”

“Dinner’s at six,” Berenger said. “If you like. Get some sleep. You look like you need it.”


	3. stupid twinky boyfriend

* * *

Ancel had the best goddamn sleep of his entire life.

The door to the bedroom locked- from the _inside-_ and was sturdy wood. The bed was the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept on. It was made out of some kind of magic foam that felt like sleeping on a cloud, and the sheets smelled fresh and faintly lemony. Instead of Louans’ snoring, there was only the soft patter of rain hitting the window like a sweet lullaby.

He woke briefly when the smell of something delicious wafted up to him, but at the moment his body needed sleep more than it needed food so he turned his face into the pillow and closed his eyes again.

Finally his phone alarm went off, meaning it was time for work, and he forced himself to sit up. He opened the door to see all his clothing, washed and dried and neatly folded, waiting for him in a hamper out in the hall.

He couldn’t help blushing as he realized Berenger must have washed his _underwear,_ but quickly shoved the thought away. His clothes smelled fresh and lemony too, and it was lovely.

After getting dressed he went to check out the bathroom, holding in a small gasp. It was huge. It had a giant claw-foot tub _and_ a fancy glass shower cubicle, and two sinks. There was a colorful plastic step stool in front of one of them, and two glasses for two sets of toothbrushes and toothpaste. One toothbrush was plain white, its accompanying toothpaste something standard and minty. The other toothbrush was pink, the handle shaped like a dinosaur. The toothpaste was bubblegum flavored.

Ancel blinked and rubbed his eyes. The toothbrush did not disappear. He ignored it as he used the bathroom and washed his hands with a fancy liquid soap that smelled of lemons and lavender.

As he moved carefully down the stairs, voices drifted up to him from the library on the first floor.

“-just a stuffy old windbag if you ask me.” Laurent, bored.

“A stuffy old-!” Berenger, indignant. A sharp exhale. “You’re trying to rile me up, aren’t you. It isn’t going to work. Isagoras is the foremost poet of-”

“Oh blah blah blah.” Laurent again, though now he sounded amused. “Tell me more about the cliffs of Ios. How white are they, again?”

“As white as the bleached bones of the earth, slumbering beneath her blanket of soil.”

Laurent snickered and Ancel paused on the stairs. Berenger was flirting with his live-in twink boyfriend, who was also apparently a college student. No wonder he found it so easy to resist Ancel’s charms, he already had one of him.

He couldn’t help scowling. He supposed Laurent was handsome enough, if you were into the whole icy bitch queen thing. Ancel was hotter though. More flexible too. His body was a work of goddamn art because that’s what you get when you spend hours a night spinning on a pole.

“I prefer Veretian poetry.” Laurent, amused and maybe somewhat goading.

“You just like reading about cocks.” Berenger, amused. Jealous?

Ancel hadn’t even known Berenger knew the word _cock,_ much less was capable of saying it.

“Is that one for the jar?”

“It doesn’t count if Alfonse isn’t home.”

Alfonse? Did Berenger have a second boyfriend too?

Light laughter. Laurent, probably. Despite all the revelations Ancel had recently had about his Literature Professor, he still doubted Berenger was capable of laughing.

He half expected to see them canoodling on one of Berenger’s fancy couches, but when he peered into the room it was to see Laurent sitting on a couch alone. Although _sitting_ was a bit generous for the way he was sprawled out as he messed around on his phone. Berenger wasn't even looking at him. He was across the room, rearranging his books.

“I still can't believe you let Nicaise drive him to the pound,” Laurent said.

“If they want to go play with the puppies, who am I to stop them? I'm not a monster.”

“They're probably going to gorge themselves on ice cream and come back here vibrating out of their skins from the sugar rush.”

Ancel’s throat felt oddly tight listening to their pointless banter. He needed to get to work, anyway. He could probably sneak right past without either of them being the wiser, but when he took the next step the floorboard creaked loudly and he winced.

Berenger and Laurent turned to look at him, moving as one in a way that was truly creepy. 

“Ancel,” Berenger said. “I trust you slept well?”

“I-” Ancel started, unnerved at the way Laurent was staring at him. Like he was plotting his demise. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?” Berenger asked. “I saved a plate for you in the fridge.”

“I- I have to go to work now,” Ancel said. He braced himself for the inevitable anger, Berenger demanding he quit his job. It never came.

“Would you like a ride?” Berenger asked.

“There’s a bus,” Ancel said.

“Don’t forget your key,” Berenger said and turned back to his books.

Ancel uneasily patted his pocket but the key was there- keychain and all. He left just as Laurent said, teasing laughter in his voice, “What are your thoughts on Catullus?”

The dirty little shit. Ancel scowled as he closed the door behind himself before he could hear Berenger’s response and stomped over to the bus stop, not sure why he was so angry. Berenger could have a boyfriend if he wanted to. It was none of Ancel’s business, anyway. Even if Ancel’s hair was better and his legs were longer and Laurent didn’t even wear make up. Of course Berenger’s taste in men would be as awful as his taste in clothing.

Although he definitely looked better lounging around the house than in class with his stupid suits. It was almost like he was trying to make himself boxy and unattractive, when really he was quite-

The bus came and Ancel shut down that thought, finding a window seat and staring out moodily. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to see a recent text-

_Louans: are you alright? I’m sorry. I miss you. Please come home, baby._

Ancel scowled and left him on read, shoving the phone away. On second thought- he pulled it back out and sent a text to Pallas, their bouncer, not to let Louans in if he happened to show up to the club. That was the last thing Ancel needed right now.

The night was fine. He made good tips. It was a Saturday, so of course he made good tips. And he’d had a good night’s- day’s, whatever- sleep for once so the bags under his eyes were less pronounced than usual and his skin clearer. There was a red mark on his face still from when Louans had hit him, but he covered it up easily enough with concealer and put it out of his mind.

He was back at Berenger’s by five thirty in the morning, just in time to see the door open and Berenger step outside with Laurent.

Berenger was wearing black track pants and a stretchy black athletic t-shirt that revealed every lean line of his body. Laurent was dressed similarly, though his shirt was white and his nipples were peaked against the fabric. Slut.

“Ancel,” Berenger said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Ancel said to Berenger. He didn’t say anything to Laurent.

Suddenly he was aware that his hair was a mess and he was wearing ratty sweats. His make up had gotten messed up and he’d taken it off so now he was standing, haggard and barefaced, staring at Laurent who looked like he’d stepped out of a high-end athletic wear catalogue.

“Race you to the library,” Laurent said and took off jogging. Berenger offered Ancel a nod before following.

Ancel definitely did not stare at his ass in those clinging track pants. He was fuming as he went upstairs, trying not to dwell on the fact that Berenger and his boyfriend jogged in the mornings together. It was sickening. And stupid. Jogging was stupid.

Ancel scowled as he went back to his room. He hadn’t noticed before, but the hamper with his clothes had a set of towels in it and he grabbed the biggest one before going to lock himself in the ridiculous bathroom. 

He contemplated the bathtub. It was tempting. It was the sort of tub you could soak in for hours. It was the sort of tub that you’d light candles for, and splurge on fancy bath bombs for, and sprinkle with rose petals. It was the sort of tub you’d soak in with a glass of wine and a box of fine chocolates, preferably with a lover.

Berenger and _Laurent_ would probably fit just right in a tub like that. Maybe they did. Maybe they did all sorts of things.

Ancel got in the shower instead. As soon as he turned it on he felt a lot better. It took no time at all for the water to heat up and the pressure was blissful. The shower had all sorts of fancy settings and the shower caddy had lots of pretty soaps and shampoos. There were lemon scented ones, which Ancel recognized as the standard house scent (and the fact that Berenger apparently coordinated the scents of his cleaning supplies was even gayer than the fact that he had a stupid twinky boyfriend). But there were others too- strawberries and cream, and lavender, and rose.

Ancel took his time washing. This shower was so much better than the ratty cubicle at Louans’ place. Better yet- Louans wasn’t anywhere near it.

After he was done Ancel went back to his room and sat down on the bed, at a loss for what to do next. He wasn’t feeling tired yet, and he’d asked for the night off so he should probably try and get on a more normal schedule so he could sleep before Berenger’s class Monday morning.

He got dressed while he tried to decide, then sat down at the dressing table to brush out his hair and put on his makeup.

He was startled by a timid knock on his door and stood, opening it. There was no one there.

“Hi,” came a quiet voice.

Ancel looked down. There was a tiny sleepy boy that couldn’t have been older than ten- at _best-_ standing in the hallway in pink rabbit pajamas. He had short sandy blonde hair, fluffed up at the front, and was wearing rabbit slippers too, just like the kind Ancel had seen Berenger wearing yesterday. Except the boy’s slippers were pink.

Ancel blinked. The boy did not disappear.

“Uh. Hi,” Ancel ventured.

The boy smiled. “Uncle Berry said not to bother you, but it’s time for breakfast. You have to come for breakfast. It’s the best meal of the day!”

Breakfast. At seven in the morning. On a Sunday. Berenger really was crazy.

And now that Ancel was paying attention, he could smell bacon, and butter, and something else. Something delicious. He’d eaten some shitty chilly fries at the club before his shift, and then he hadn’t had anything other than the watered down drinks he’d had the patrons buy for him. His stomach grumbled.

“Um. Ok,” Ancel said.

The boy smiled and held out his hand. Ancel wasn’t sure if that was necessary but he was also pretty sure that when a child offered its hand, it was the done thing to take it. But what the hell did he know? He took the boy’s hand.

They went down to the kitchen, where the boy let go of Ancel’s hand and clambered up to sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

Berenger was standing at the stove, freshly showered and in slacks and a white shirt, rolled up to the elbows. He was wearing a plain gray apron as he flipped a pancake. Laurent was sitting at the island, freshly showered and dressed too. They’d probably showered together after their run. Disgusting.

But there was someone else, a young man with dark brown curls and piercing blue eyes, sitting with his elbows propped on the counter and his chin in his hands. He was lanky, just starting to grow into his body, maybe sixteen. He looked over at Ancel and scoffed with annoyance.

“You picked up another stray?” the boy asked. “And it’s not even a dog. I wanted a dog.”

“Be nice, Nicaise,” Berenger said evenly. He turned to nod at Ancel in greeting. “This is Ancel. He’s going to be staying with us for a while so you might as well start getting along now.” He turned back to the pan he was standing over and neatly slid the pancake out of it onto a waiting plate, already stacked high. “I see you’ve already met Alfonse.”

The boy in the pink pajamas smiled widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Are you running some sort of youth hostel?” Ancel asked dubiously, sitting down.

“Yeah,” Nicaise said.

“No,” Laurent said.

“I’d rather have a dog,” Nicaise muttered.

“And who’s going to stay with the dog while we’re all at school?” Berenger asked. “Who’s going to make sure it doesn’t get lonely and chew up the furniture?”

“We could get a cat,” Laurent said.

“I want a bunny,” Alfonse said.

The argument about which pet they should get continued as Berenger calmly finished whatever he was doing and turned off the stove.

“Do you have any food allergies, Ancel?” Berenger asked as he started setting the table with a truly ridiculous amount of food. The pancakes were stuffed full of chocolate chips and raspberries, and there were cute little waffles topped with ricotta and strawberries. There was a small platter of bacon and cold cuts and sliced cheese and another of poached eggs. “Any dietary restrictions?”

Ancel stared in shock as the food kept coming- a bowl of fresh fruit salad with a dollop of cream on top and toasted english muffins and a few croissants because apparently the rest wasn’t enough. That didn’t even count the spread of butter and assorted jams and jellies and something green that he couldn’t identify. Nicaise stood and grabbed dishes out of the cabinets, handing them out lazily.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Nicaise said as Berenger put down a few fancy wooden trivets and put pitchers of hot coffee and tea on them, and then set out a pitcher of orange juice and ice water for good measure.

“That’s private medical information,” Nicaise continued, turning to Berenger. “What are you, a narc?”

“I don’t have any allergies,” Ancel said, still a little stunned. He’d never seen a breakfast spread like this in his entire life. 

Berenger was the first to load up a plate with food before sliding it over to Alfonse, and then it was an odd sort of free-for-all, though no one seemed particularly in a rush. There was enough food to feed a small army, after all. Ancel copied Laurent, carefully grabbing a poached egg and a pancake, some fruit. No one scolded him for taking food out of turn, or taking too much, or told him he should _watch his figure._

Everything was delicious and he focused on eating as another ridiculous argument brewed between Laurent and Nicaise. When Ancel reached for seconds no one said anything either.

By some unspoken agreement Laurent was the one to clean up the dishes after breakfast. Ancel felt sleepy and sated like a lazy cat. After a meal like that, he definitely wanted to take a nap in a patch of sunlight.

“I’m going back to bed,” Nicaise announced, pushing back from the table with a groan. Ancel noticed he was still in his pajamas too- an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

“C’mon, Fonz,” he said, helping a yawning Alfonse down from his stool. “I’ll tuck you in.”

Ancel felt awkward left alone in the kitchen with Berenger and Laurent, their easy camaraderie. He mumbled a quick thanks before retreating to his own room. He’d only meant to lie down for a minute and fuck around on his phone, but he ended up falling asleep for a few hours anyway.

He woke in the early afternoon and ventured downstairs, not quite sure what to do with himself. He found Alfonse drawing at the kitchen island while Berenger leaned on the counter next to him, saying something encouraging with a smile. The drawing was a pink rabbit. Of course.

“Ancel,” Berenger said, looking up. “Are you hungry? Lunch is a bit of a free for all around here. There are things to make sandwiches, and some leftovers too. Feel free to use the kitchen. Or I could make you something?”

Ancel felt a blush rising to his cheeks and bit his lip to try and push it back. “I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again, but. Thank you.”

“If you’ve had some time to settle in, maybe now is a good time to go over house rules?”

“Right,” Ancel said. Of course there were rules. A curfew maybe, or no locked doors allowed or something. One of his foster parents had a rule that they could inspect his room at any time and he wasn’t allowed to argue. He felt his palms start to sweat. Of course Berenger and his whole- _thing-_ was too good to be true.

Berenger brushed Alfonse’s hair back from his forehead and straightened, walking closer. “If you swear you put a sol in the swear jar,” Berenger said, pointing to a jar full of coins on a low shelf. “I’m trying to create a wholesome environment for Alfonse, so this house is strictly rated PG. That means no funny business.”

Ancel couldn’t help a snort. “You mean I can’t bring boys over?”

“You can,” Berenger said. “As long as you keep it PG.”

“Okay,” Ancel said. “What else?”

“Don’t teach Alfonse new swears,” Berenger said. He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “I’m still in hot water with his mother from the time he asked her what a rimjob was.”

Ancel laughed despite himself. “What? Who would-”

“Nicaise,” Berenger said with a sigh. “And you’ll have to ask him if you want to know what he was thinking.” He leaned back before continuing. “Alfonse goes to bed at nine, so no loud music after that. On Mondays I have a maid service come in to clean. If you want them to clean your room, leave the door open. Otherwise they won’t go inside.”

Berenger pointed to a typed list pinned to a cork board on the wall. “Here’s the list of all the important phone numbers. And the credit card.” There was an envelope pinned under the list and Berenger pulled out a credit card. “It’s for groceries, take out, anything for the house. You can use it if you need anything.”

Ancel blinked. “You’re giving me an allowance?”

“I’m giving you permission to use the card,” Berenger said. “The only one with an allowance is Nicaise, because he can’t be trusted not to buy a pony. Or a motorcycle.”

“That was one time!” Nicaise’s indignant voice drifted in from the library.

“I have money, you know,” Ancel said suspiciously. “I- I’m not going to quit my job.”

“I’m not asking you to quit your job,” Berenger said. “I just want to make sure you have everything you need.”

“Like what?” Ancel asked.

“I don’t know,” Berenger said. “Toothpaste, clothes, books. If there’s anything you want for your room.”

He held the card out and Ancel took it slowly.

“If you wanted to go shopping today, you could borrow the car.”

Ancel blinked. Berenger was giving him a credit card and letting him borrow his _car._ What the fuck. “I can’t drive.”

There was a patter of footsteps and Nicaise burst into the room, red-faced. “I’ll drive!”

Ancel looked at him dubiously. He’d changed out of his pajamas into some edgy grunge rock look, his black jeans ripped in so many places they might as well have been shorts. He’d put on black eyeliner too. It was a mess. Ancel narrowed his eyes even more dubiously but restrained himself from commenting. Today, at least.

“Nicaise just got his license,” Berenger said. “He’s very eager to put it to use. I’d offer to take you but I have to get some work done. But if you prefer, I’m sure Laurent wouldn’t mind-”

“Nicaise is fine,” Ancel said quickly. He was rude and abrasive and kind of annoying, but he was better than the bitch queen.

“I’m taking the beamer,” Nicaise announced.

“You are certainly _not_ taking the beamer,” Berenger said. There was a small rack of hooks for keys and he took a set before offering them to Nicaise, whose face fell in disappointment. “Drive safe,” Berenger said, patting Nicaise on the shoulder. 

“Have a nice day, Ancel,” Berenger added, as easy as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the picture, you can reblog it on tumblr [HERE :)](https://barbitone.tumblr.com/post/626934632888303616/alfonse-aka-berengers-nephew-from-higher)
> 
> I realize there's a lot of American slang and stuff in here, and there are international readers. If anything's confusing, feel free to ask!
> 
> I don't always know what sorts of things might need an explanation and what sorts of things don't. For example- 'beamer' is slang for BMW. Is that common slang around the world? No clue XD But Berenger has 2 cars- the "black sedan" he picked Ancel up in during chapter 1 (aka the BMW), and a giant SUV that he taught Nicaise to drive in because of its excellent safety rating.


	4. same species of freak

* * *

“So,” Ancel said, glancing over at where Nicaise was clutching the steering wheel with his hands perfectly at ten and two.

“Shut up,” Nicaise gritted out. “I’m driving.” He said it in the same way someone else might say _I’m performing neurosurgery._

Ancel smiled and left him alone. He was a good driver, not what Ancel had expected. He was wholly focused on the road, checking all his mirrors regularly, and he actually slowed down at yellow lights instead of speeding up. He drove exactly two miles below the speed limit and stopped fully at stop signs to look left and right twice before going, which earned them a few annoyed honks from other cars that Nicaise resolutely ignored.

And even if he’d been reckless, the car they were in was some giant SUV built like a tank so Ancel didn’t feel particularly worried. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to glance at the message.

_Louans: Are you ignoring me? I said I was sorry._

Ancel scowled.

_Louans: We need to talk. I miss you. Can we meet?_

Ancel put the phone away, his mood soured. In twenty minutes they pulled up to some giant mall and Nicaise seemed even more tense as he prowled the parking lot looking for a decent space.

“So,” Ancel tried again once they were walking through a department store, Nicaise trailing behind him as he engaged in what must have been a lively group chat on his phone. “What’s wrong with him?”

Nicaise looked up. “Berenger?” He rolled his eyes. “I dunno. Everything. You’ve met him.”

“I just mean…” Ancel paused as a shimmery silk shirt caught his eye. He really did need clothes, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get a few things. “It’s weird, isn’t it? For him to… live with his boyfriend and some kids.”

“His _boyfriend-”_ Nicaise made a show of gagging. “Ew. Wait- are you dating him?!”

“What?” Ancel exclaimed. “No! I meant Laurent!”

Nicaise’s eyes widened and he burst out into laughter loud enough that they got the side eye from a few of the other customers. “Oh my god,” Nicaise gasped out. “Laurent! Laurent’s thirsting over some dumb frat jock like a total loser. As if he’d like Berenger. As if Berenger would like _him!”_

“Oh,” Ancel said, feeling awkward as he turned away to look through a rack of clothes. “They just- they seem. Close.”

“They are,” Nicaise said, pulling out a few things for himself too. “But not like- _that._ Ugh. They’re just. They’re like the same species of freak.” Nicaise paused meaningfully before adding with utmost disgust- _“morning people.”_

Ancel could relate.

For a while they shopped in silence, and then Nicaise made a small noise at the back of his throat. “If any of us are weird, it’s _you.”_

“What?” Ancel asked.

“Well,” Nicaise said, looking through a rack of graphic tees. “Fonz is his nephew. Laurent is _practically_ his nephew, and I’m Laurent’s brother, so-” He grimaced faintly. “Well. Adopted. I guess.”

“Laurent adopted you?” Ancel asked, not quite keeping up.

“Auguste did,” Nicaise said. “Laurent’s older brother. He’s best friends with Berenger, so he’s like… doing him a favor. Letting us live with him. Auguste spends a lot of time abroad. But you’re just some rando.”

“I’m not a rando,” Ancel said indignantly. “I- I’m a student of his.”

Nicaise looked at him pointedly. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s pretty fucking weird.”

“Swear jar,” Ancel said.

“We only have to be PG inside the house,” Nicaise said with a smug grin.

For a while they shopped in peaceful silence and Ancel used Berenger’s card to pay for their stuff. And then Nicaise dragged him off to some fancy soap store and Ancel got shampoo and conditioner and bath bombs and tried way too many lotion samples.

Nicaise demanded smoothies and afterwards they wandered through a game store, Nicaise staring longingly at various game consoles and cartridges.

“How old are you, anyway?” Nicaise asked.

“What’s it to you?” Ancel retorted.

“I’m going to a party next weekend,” Nicaise said. “I need someone to buy me beer. Laurent said no.”

Ancel snorted. “I’m not buying you beer. That’s not very PG.”

“Ugh, and I thought you’d be cool.”

“Why?” Ancel asked with a laugh despite himself. He was starting to really like Nicaise.

“Ugh, I dunno,” Nicaise said, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Your whole- _thing._ You’re all-”

“What?” Ancel asked, curious.

“Glamorous and shit,” Nicaise said. “Like you’re like… a bad boy. Or something. I just thought you’d be cool.”

“I am cool,” Ancel said, probably too flustered over praise from a sixteen year old. In his defense, he didn’t really get compliments other than _oh baby please sit on my face_ or _I bet I could bounce a quarter off that ass._ A teenager thinking he was _cool_ was somehow so much more… real.

“Not like that, though,” Ancel said in response to Nicaise’s attempt at puppy dog eyes.

They wandered past a jewelry store and Ancel stopped abruptly, staring at a pair of dangly peridot earrings in a rose gold setting. They were so pretty. He loved jewelry but he could never afford it. All he had was some cheap bracelet Louans had given him that had turned his wrist green for a week. He hadn’t even bothered taking it with him when he’d packed up his shit.

“Oh my god,” Nicaise groaned. “If you like them so much, just get them.”

 _“Nicaise,”_ Ancel hissed, scandalized. “They’re like… two hundred sol!”

“So?”

“So! Berenger will get mad! He said clothes, and toothpaste and- and- things for the room.” Ancel didn’t say _my room._ It was too weird.

“He said _anything,”_ Nicaise said.

“He’ll be mad,” Ancel said, still staring at the earrings. They’d go so well with his eyes.

“He’s not even going to notice,” Nicaise said, taking Ancel’s wrist and dragging him into the store. “I bought a PS4 a few months ago. You know what he said? Nothing.”

Nicaise ordered the clerk to box up the earrings before Ancel could stop him. Well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

He couldn’t help wringing his hands as Nicaise handed over the credit card, and then he had the earrings and Nicaise was dragging him towards one of the mirrors to try them on.

“Oh,” Ancel whispered, reaching up to touch. They were so pretty. “I’m fucked.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Nicaise said, rolling his eyes. “He’s like- loaded.”

“He’s a _Literature Professor,”_ Ancel said. Sure, he had a nice house and all, but how _loaded_ could Berenger possibly be?

“He’s like… old money,” Nicaise said, admiring the earrings too. “Just like Laurent. His family used to like, rule Varenne or something. They have a _castle._ And a million horses. It’s pretty gross, they shit a lot.”

“Did Laurent’s family use to rule a whole Veretian province too?” Ancel asked with a small smile. If Berenger did get mad, he could always just return the earrings, couldn’t he?

“...No,” Nicaise said, his face twisting oddly. “Auguste, Laurent’s brother, he- he has this ring he wears. It’s like five pounds of gold and it has a symbol of a starburst on it. You know. Like.”

“The _King?”_ Ancel asked. “You’re shitting me.”

“Stick around for the winter holidays and see for yourself,” Nicaise said. “He always visits. Berenger’s sister, too. It’s a whole thing.”

Ancel had no idea what to say to _that._ But he guessed it made sense that Berenger was rich- why else would he waste money on someone like Ancel?

Nicaise insisted on getting another smoothie, and then they walked past a toy store and Nicaise made Ancel buy a stuffed bunny for Alfonse, and later a heavy book for Laurent. And then they were driving home again in silence while Nicaise muttered traffic laws to himself under his breath.

“If you won’t buy me beer,” Nicaise said once he’d painstakingly parallel parked in front of Berenger’s house, “would you buy me chalis?”

 _“No,”_ Ancel said with a smile. “Get your own drugs. Aren’t you in highschool? I’m sure there’s a dealer in your class.”

“That’s no fun,” Nicaise pouted. “You’re lame.”

 _“You’re_ lame,” Ancel retorted, getting out of the car and grabbing all his shopping bags out of the back.

When they walked inside the whole house smelled of butter and garlic and Laurent was sitting at the kitchen island reading some book out loud to Alfonse while Berenger stood at the stove.

“What’s for dinner?” Nicaise asked.

“Chicken Chasseur,” Berenger said without turning. “How was your shopping trip?”

“Good,” Nicaise said.

“New earrings?” Laurent asked with a razor sharp smile.

“Yes,” Ancel said, blushing as he raised his hand self-consciously to his ear. Berenger looked up at that, his expression bland.

“That's nice,” he said absently before looking back at the pan he was standing over. And that was that.

 _Told you,_ Nicaise mouthed at him with a grin.

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Berenger said. “You should all go wash up.”

Ancel went to put away his haul and arrange his new toiletries in the bathroom, feeling oddly unsettled. This couldn’t be real life.

His phone buzzed.

_Louans: Ungrateful bitch. You can’t ignore me forever._

Well. Ancel smiled wryly. He supposed that was more like it.

_Hottie #6: did I do smth wrong? :( I thought we had a good time before :((_

He ignored the text from Louans, answering Aimeric instead.

_Sry, got busy )’: I’ll see you in class?_

_Hottie #6: k ;)_

Ancel put his phone away. He didn’t really need Aimeric anymore, not if things with Berenger continued to go well. But it was nice to keep his options open anyway. Who knew how this would turn out?

Dinner was less lavish than breakfast had been, with only two dishes- a light salad in a vinaigrette dressing followed by the Chicken Chasseur. Berenger poured himself a glass of white wine, and one for Laurent when he slid his glass over.

He paused when he looked at Ancel. “How old are you?” Berenger asked.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Nicaise said, glaring at Berenger. “That’s private information. Narc.”

“My ID says I’m twenty one,” Ancel said, raising an eyebrow as he pushed his glass closer.

“That’s not what I asked,” Berenger said, but poured him a glass of wine anyway.

Ancel wasn’t exactly a connoisseur but it seemed to complement the meal pretty well. There were no more offers of wine after the first glass though, and no one got a refill.

“Sunday night is game night,” Berenger said once Nicaise and Laurent started cleaning up plates. “But it’s Nicaise’s turn to pick the game so it’s probably going to get out of hand. You’re welcome to join us, Ancel.”

Ancel bit back a blush, shaking his head. “I have to do the reading, still. For class tomorrow. Except…”

“Except?” Berenger asked.

“Except I don’t have the books,” Ancel muttered. Buying college textbooks was a racket and he wasn’t some chump. “I usually just go to the library and photocopy the sections I need, and read those.”

“That’s not a problem,” Berenger said. “You can borrow my copies instead.” 

He wandered off into the library and Ancel followed him awkwardly, waiting as Berenger perused the shelves and pulled out the three books that he’d assigned readings from for the next class. Meanwhile Nicaise, Laurent, and Alfonse were making themselves comfortable around the coffee table in the center of the room. Nicaise pulled out a deck of cards, shuffling it with the expertise of a professional dealer.

“Thanks,” Ancel muttered as Berenger handed off the books, but he couldn’t help lingering as the four of them started dealing out hands for some game he didn’t recognize, some mix of Bullshit and Go Fish.

Suddenly the thought of going back to his own room to sit around reading alone seemed particularly pathetic. Especially knowing the cozy scene he was leaving behind. He made himself comfortable on one of the couches instead, cracking open the first book as he took occasional peeks at the game. Nicaise was a horrible loser and a worse winner. Laurent was as graceful as always, and Ancel was pretty sure Berenger was cheating to let Alfonse win more hands than he lost.

Eventually Ancel tuned them out as he read his coursework, but he still felt oddly good.

He was nearly done by the time Berenger announced it was Alfonse’s bed time and took him by the hand to lead him upstairs. Laurent and Nicaise drifted off somewhere too and Ancel felt oddly disoriented when he looked up from the last of the books to find the room empty but for the crackling fire.

The emptiness didn’t last long. Nicaise came back with a giant bowl of popcorn and pushed Ancel’s legs off the couch to sit beside him, and then Laurent was there too, reaching for the remote. What Ancel had thought was a giant oddly luminous painting turned out to be a TV and Laurent stared intently as he navigated the settings to a paid streaming service, clicking on a show that was on the front screen. _Captive Prince._

“What’s this?” Ancel asked.

“Sunday night is also TV night,” Nicaise said, grabbing a fistful of popcorn.

Ancel looked back at the screen. The show was rated R, with warnings for violence and sexuality, nudity and profanity.

“I thought this was a PG house,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Nicaise said. “Alfonse is asleep.”

They waited for another ten minutes and then Berenger returned, settling in an armchair beside the couch.

Nicaise offered Ancel some of the popcorn and Ancel couldn’t help grinning as he took a handful. This was just so- _weird._ And fun, too.

“Okay, ready?” Laurent asked.

“Just start it already,” Nicaise whined, and the show began.

Ancel couldn’t help being captivated as the _previously on…_ played back. The show was some crazy period drama about Ancient Vere full of sex and violence and intrigue. And then it actually started and he had no idea what was going on and it was amazing. 

He kept whispering to Nicaise to ask who was that, or what just happened, or why did he do that...?

Nicaise just slapped him lightly on the arm even as he explained in urgent hushed tones what the hell was going on.

There was a Prince, and another Prince, though that one was a slave, and a bunch of Veretian courtiers and pets. There was a particularly devious pet with long red hair who twirled firesticks to the amazement of the crowd of nobles and Ancel leaned over to Nicaise to whisper-

“He’s my favorite.”

“Ugh,” Nicaise whispered back. “You _would._ He’s the worst.”

There was a courtier that reminded Ancel of Berenger- or at least of his ugly brown jackets- and everyone was sexy and mischievous and everyone fucked everyone all. the. time.

When the episode ended Ancel couldn’t help blinking in a daze. “You’re all liars,” he said at last. “This house isn’t PG at _all.”_

Nicaise snickered and Laurent stifled a laugh too. Even Berenger seemed to hide a smile behind his hand as he rose and gathered up their empty bowls of popcorn, heading to the kitchen.

It was almost eleven in the evening by then and Ancel couldn’t help yawning as he remembered he had class in the morning. It was oddly easy to bid everyone good night before retiring to his own cozy little room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine _Captive Prince_ the TV show is the universe's Game of Thrones XD


	5. a little glittery blush and some lipstick

* * *

The breakfast Berenger served on Monday was no less lavish than the one he’d made the day before. Though it was definitely more heavy on protein rather than carbs- sausage and yogurt and oatmeal replacing pancakes and muffins and waffles. When Ancel idly mentioned it Berenger launched into a lecture on nutrition and Nicaise dropped his face into his hands with a groan.

Berenger drove to work, which was silly because it was well within walking distance.

Ancel knew because he walked, showing up to class two minutes before it started.

It was strange to be in Berenger’s class- not just because he knew that Berenger wore baby blue bunny slippers in his off hours, but also because he could participate in the discussions now. He’d done the readings. He always did the readings. But now that he was paying attention instead of half dead with exhaustion he realized how fucking thick his classmates were.

Ancel made a point of contributing to the class discussion in ways that were insightful but not overbearing. He saved his more provocative theories for private as he stared at Berenger over the dinner table, daring him to call him out.

“It’s a metaphor for-” Ancel glanced at Alfonse next to him, eating his shrimp pasta with gusto, before lowering his voice and making a jerking hand gesture. “-you know. _Enjoying yourself.”_

“That seems unfounded, at best,” Berenger said mildly.

“Please,” Ancel said, rolling his eyes. “The whole thing with the dew in the grass? The soliloquy about the _young foals_ and the _virgin meadow,_ and the-”

“Yes,” Berenger interrupted with a faint smile. “Alright, I see your point.”

“Well good,” Ancel said. “I am excellent at literary analysis. Maybe you should just give me an A and I could-”

“You still have to write your essay,” Berenger said, as infuriating as always. “I could proofread it for you, if you like-”

“I don’t need you to proofread it,” Ancel said. “I write like an angel, so fu-” he glanced over at Alfonse, slurping up noodles. “...Fudge you.”

“Fudge me indeed,” Berenger said, looking far more amused than he should have been.

“Oh my god,” Nicaise groaned. “I’m the only non-nerd in this house.”

“Am I a nerd?” Alfonse asked.

“Yes,” Laurent said, casually reaching out to wipe a bit of sauce off his nose. “But it’s alright. You wouldn’t want to be like Nicaise, would you.”

Alfonse shrugged, unperturbed.

Ancel was struck all over again by the _strangeness_ of this whole thing. He was having _family dinner._ He’d never had “family dinner” before, or at least not like this- surrounded by people he actually liked- Laurent excluded- and chatting about normal things. It was nice. Friendly.

And now he had it every night. It was just. Bizarre.

Living at Berenger’s had a reassuringly predictable routine to it. Breakfast was at seven and always ridiculous. Nicaise drove Alfonse to school. Berenger drove to class so he could pick up Alfonse after school, which was also apparently why all his classes were so goddamned early. He needed to be done when Alfonse was. It was also why Berenger offered later classes during the Spring semester- Alfonse was on the after school soccer team then. 

It was gratifying to know that Berenger wasn’t just some sort of sadist.

Ancel went to all his classes, and now that he was paying attention he noticed he had more than just psych with Laurent, they had econ together too. They didn’t sit together, partly because Laurent was a bitch and partly because he sat next to some beefy Akielon fuck boy and made _eyes_ at him all class, which was disgusting.

He usually got back to the house in the afternoon during what Berenger had deemed _homework time._ He and Alfonse would sit at the kitchen island, Alfonse doing his homework while Berenger graded papers or did whatever it was professors did to prepare for class. Nicaise would retreat to his room where he pretended to do homework while actually playing video games. Laurent did schoolwork at the college library, probably with his fuck boy, so it was an oddly relaxing time.

That was when Ancel preferred to do his school work too, sitting in Berenger’s fancy library where he could look up and stare at Berenger’s forearms whenever he wanted. Not that he wanted to.

Dinner was at six and afterwards Ancel and Laurent took turns cleaning up while Berenger prepared lunch boxes for Alfonse and Nicaise, which Nicaise grumbled about because he was “not a kid” but secretly enjoyed. Who wouldn’t? Berenger was an amazing cook. Ancel kind of wanted to ask for a lunch box of his own. Berenger would probably do it too, he was always asking Ancel if he was hungry like he was trying to fatten up a ceremonial calf. Still, the thought of _asking_ made Ancel flush with embarrassment. If he actually did it he might literally die.

Berenger’s bedroom was on the third floor. His office was up there too, and he would work there for the few hours before Alfonse’s bedtime at nine. Nicaise had a curfew of ten on school nights but Berenger didn’t have any restrictions like that for Laurent or Ancel.

On Saturdays Berenger took Alfonse out for some “enrichment activity” which was code for boring nerd stuff, like going to the museum. Sometimes Laurent went with them. Once Berenger took Alfonse to the zoo and Nicaise went too. He grumbled and pretended like Berenger was forcing him even though he obviously just wanted to look at the wolves. Ancel always skipped it in favor of napping, even though Berenger invited him every time. 

Sunday evenings Berenger poured himself, Laurent, and Ancel a single glass of wine with dinner and then it was game and TV night- _Captive Prince-_ which only got more ridiculous with every episode. Ancel loved it. And then the titular Princes left the capitol and his favorite character behind, so he loved it less. But it was still the best show he’d ever seen, and probably his favorite night of the week.

Ancel supposed the routine was kind of boring, but he found himself liking it. He’d had enough _interesting_ for a lifetime by now, and he was only twenty. He ignored increasingly angry texts from Louans. He let his relationship with Aimeric cool down, not needing his Plan B so much anymore. Aimeric pouted about it for all of two days before he started making eyes at their TA, Jord.

Ancel cut back his hours at the club. He still worked Friday and Saturday nights. When he felt guilty about slacking off he told himself that he made most of his money on those days anyway. Except now every single cent got transferred into his savings account because for once in his life he didn’t have to worry about what he was going to eat, or wear, or where he would sleep.

For the first time in his life he felt almost- _relaxed._

And then he came home later than usual one day and saw the door to his room was cracked and heard little clinking sounds from beyond. Berenger was looking through his shit. Of course he was. Was it too much to expect a tiny bit of privacy?

Ancel was seething as he shoved the door open. “What the fu-”

He broke off sharply when he saw Alfonse sitting at his dressing table, holding a tube of lipstick. He went pale and wide-eyed, dropping the lipstick with a tiny _meep._

“-fudge,” Ancel said belatedly, staring. Alfonse had made a total mess of himself with bright pink eyeshadow and glitter, his eyelids a smear of mascara.

Alfonse’s face crumpled into despair as he wrung his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I- I know I shouldn’t have come in without permission or touched your stuff, but I- you always look so pretty and I- I-”

Ancel was speechless as he stared at Alfonse working himself up into a _state._

“I’m sorry,” Alfonse said again, tears in his eyes. “Don’t be mad. Are you mad?”

Ancel opened his mouth to say he wasn’t mad, but what came out instead was a laugh.

“Ancel?” Alfonse asked uncertainly.

“Oh, honey,” Ancel managed. “You’re a mess. Do you want me to fix it?”

“So you’re not mad?” Alfonse asked in a tiny voice.

“I mean- I don’t love that you came in and used my stuff without permission,” Ancel said carefully. “But I’m not mad. Just ask next time, okay?”

Alfonse nodded so hard Ancel worried his head might come off. He held out his hand and Alfonse took it with an uncertain smile.

“First we have to get this mess off your face,” Ancel said, gathering some of his things before leading Alfonse to the bathroom. He left the door open while helping the boy sit up on the counter. His make up wipes were in one of the drawers and he couldn’t help laughing again as he cleaned Alfonse up.

“Rule number one,” Ancel said. “Don’t share mascara or lipstick. It’s unsanitary.” Under different circumstances he might have wondered if a ten year old kid would even know what _unsanitary_ meant, but Alfonse was Berenger's nephew so Ancel wasn't worried. “But I guess you already used them so it’s too late. Rule number two, less is more.”

He opened the mascara and brought the brush up to Alfonse’s face, to which the boy responded by grimacing and closing his eyes.

“You need to open your eyes, honey.”

“It’s scary!”

“Okay,” Ancel said, moving away. “We can skip it.”

Alfonse frowned and opened his eyes. “No, I don’t want to skip it.”

“Okay,” Ancel said, taking hold of his chin. “Stay still, okay?”

Alfonse nodded as seriously as though he was going off to war. Ancel bit his lip so he wouldn’t laugh as he carefully applied a bit of mascara. He did eyeshadow next, bubblegum pink at Alfonse’s request, and then a little glittery blush and some lipstick. He showed Alfonse how to dab his lips with a tissue afterward.

“All done, do you want to see?”

Alfonse twisted to look at himself in the mirror before grinning too. He looked so happy.

“Do you want to do your nails next?” Ancel asked.

At Alfonse’s emphatic nod Ancel went to get his nail stuff, giving Alfonse a manicure and painting his nails pink before painstakingly sprinkling them with glitter and drawing little white bunny heads on each of his nails.

He’d just finished when Alfonse grinned and said, “Uncle Berry!”

Ancel froze, his heart in his throat. It suddenly occurred to him that it might have been wise to ask permission before slathering Berenger’s ten year old nephew with beauty products. He swallowed before slowly looking up.

Berenger was standing in the doorway, clearly surprised but not angry. Not yet, at least.

“Uh,” Ancel said with a wince.

“Look!” Alfonse said, holding out his hand. “Ancel drew bunnies! Am I pretty?”

Berenger looked down at Alfonse’s nails. He looked up at Ancel. “He’s a bit young for make up.”

“Uh,” Ancel said. He should probably apologize. Now was the time to apologize. He couldn’t make the words come out.

“Uncle Berry!” Alfonse said.

Berenger looked over at him. “What matters most is that you’re a good person, Alfonse. But yes, you are very pretty, make up or not.”

“But I’m _especially_ pretty right now,” Alfonse insisted.

“Yes you are,” Berenger said indulgently. “Go show Nicaise. Maybe how pretty you are will inspire him to do a neater job with his eyeliner.”

He lifted Alfonse off the counter and set him on the floor, at which point Alfonse took off, presumably to go show Nicaise.

“Ancel,” Berenger said.

“Am I in trouble?” Ancel asked. At this point he was no longer sure.

“I don’t want him developing body image issues, Ancel.”

Ancel couldn’t help snorting out a laugh while Berenger just looked at him with a pinched expression of concern. 

_“That’s_ what you’re worried about?”

“It’s a slippery slope,” Berenger said defensively. “First it’s make up, then it’s anorexia. I just- he’s ten. I want him to be healthy and happy.”

Ancel laughed harder. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Berenger asked, a little lost. “Sometimes I’m not sure. He’s- I love him. His mother entrusted me with his care.”

“Oh my god,” Ancel said, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes so he could calm down. “It’s fine. He’ll be fine. This was just for fun- it’s not like he’s going to start going to school with a full face on.”

He paused, sobering. The make up would be washed off at bed time, but the nails…

“You should make him take the nail polish off tonight,” Ancel said, grabbing the acetone and cotton swabs out of the cabinet. “Before school tomorrow. In case the other kids…”

“He can if he wants to,” Berenger said firmly. “I’m not going to make him. That’s not how I do things.”

“Yeah,” Ancel said with a small smile, oddly charmed. “I guess it isn’t. You never make anyone do anything. You just make it easy for them to make good decisions.”

He watched as Berenger picked up the lipstick, staring at it intently. It took him a moment to realize Berenger was reading the list of ingredients.

“What?” Ancel asked.

“I can’t pronounce most of these words,” Berenger said. “This is non toxic, right?”

Ancel laughed again, taking the lipstick out of his hand and stowing it in Alfonse’s drawer. He couldn’t use it anymore anyway so Alfonse may as well keep it if he wanted. “I wouldn’t _poison_ him. I put that stuff on my own face, too.”

Berenger paused as he watched Ancel putting things away.

“Ancel,” he said quietly.

“Hm?” Ancel looked to see Berenger looking thoughtful.

“He looked really happy just now. Thank you.”

Ancel blushed but thankfully that was when Berenger turned to walk away.

At dinner that night Laurent agreed that Alfonse looked very pretty and Nicaise rolled his eyes and said-

“I’m the only fucking straight person in this whole house!”

-at which point Berenger told him to put two sol in the swear jar (for saying _fuck_ and maybe _straight?_ Ancel wasn’t sure), and apologize and tell Alfonse that he looked pretty.

And then Alfonse announced that Ancel was the best and that he could help Nicaise with _his_ make up too, and Ancel got to look unbearably smug while Nicaise sputtered and said he didn’t need any help, _thank you very fucking much_. And then he had to put another sol in the jar.

Ancel’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to see-

_Louans: Whore._

He frowned, his thumb hovering over the block button. He’d been keeping all of Louans’ messages, just in case. In case of _what_ he wasn’t sure. In case he needed a restraining order?

But it wouldn’t get that far. Louans would get tired and forget him soon. And he was harmless, anyway. 

Except he wasn’t, was he. He’d hit him. Ancel couldn’t help tightening his grip as he stared at that single word.

_Whore._

At least he wasn’t a pathetic old man preying on someone less than half his age. At least he wasn’t wrinkly and disgusting. So what if he was a _whore._ He didn’t even- he didn’t even offer extras, at the club. Not anymore. And-

“Ancel?”

Ancel jerked up, slipping his phone back into his pocket to see Berenger looking at him with concern.

Nicaise was trying to provoke Laurent into a slap fight, which Laurent was stoically resisting. Alfonse was laughing as he watched, his pink and bunny-painted nails shiny in the cheerful light of the kitchen.

Ancel was struck all over again by the strangeness of this whole arrangement.

He swallowed, hard.

“Is everything alright?” Berenger asked.

Berenger was taking care of him without asking for anything in return other than good grades and attendance. He’d invited Ancel to live with his family, invited Ancel into their lives. And it was- it was- good. More than he deserved, probably. Certainly it wasn’t anything he’d _earned._ He’d only been shitty to Berenger before this, had threatened to report him for sexual harassment, too. And still- 

Still-

Ancel managed a smile. “Yeah,” he said, looking back at his plate and picking up his fork.


	6. stale muffin of a man

* * *

Ancel was expecting Alfonse to be bullied at school for his nails. He wasn’t expecting his friends to be jealous.

At Alfonse’s request, he did his nails weekly. He bought more colors and special nail brushes for delicate work, drawing different intricate designs each time-

He was kidding himself. It was bunnies. It was always bunnies.

Sometimes the bunnies were pink, sometimes they were white, sometimes they were purple, but always with the bunnies. Sometimes Alfonse shyly asked if he could bring his friends over and then Ancel did their nails, too- drawing stars and hearts to sprinkle with glitter, so much glitter.

With midterms just around the corner, Ancel wasn’t worried. He was acing all his classes, Berenger’s too now that he wasn’t dancing every night.

But both Laurent and Berenger started looking a little pale and pinched around the eyes a week beforehand so Ancel gave them their space. He even offered to take Alfonse on an “enrichment activity” that Saturday which Berenger agreed to with a relieved sigh.

“I’m going, too,” Nicaise announced.

“You don’t even know what we’re doing,” Ancel said.

“Well, it’s _you,”_ Nicaise said, rolling his eyes. “So it’s gonna be good. And anyway, you need someone to drive.”

Ancel directed Nicaise to an arcade bar and then used Berenger’s credit card to buy way too many tokens and a craft beer for himself, dismissing Nicaise’s protests by turning up his nose and declaring-

“You have to drive.”

After the first ten minutes Nicaise wasn’t even complaining anymore as they played Street Fighter and Pac Man and some driving simulator that required the player to get on a plastic replica of a motorcycle.

Alfonse was beside himself with glee when he beat Nicaise on the first round (who, as it turned out, drove in the game the same way he drove in real life- two miles below the speed limit), and then Ancel smoked him five times in a row in a dancing game where they had to rhythmically step on lighted panels. Alfonse used all his tickets to buy a silly hat for himself, and super bouncy balls for Ancel and Nicaise, and two fancy multicolor pens- one for Laurent and one for Berenger.

Ancel had gotten the night off with a vaguely mumbled explanation to his boss (he’d lowered his eyes and sighed heavily, saying _midterms_ in a put-upon tone) so instead of going home for dinner they ate greasy pizza and then they played more games until 8:45 at which point Nicaise glanced at his phone and cursed viciously before hustling the three of them out. He sent a frantic text and gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove exactly the speed limit the whole way home

They arrived at 9:10 and Nicaise finished parallel parking by 9:14. When they led a sleepy Alfonse up to the door, each holding one of his hands, it was 9:15.

Berenger was pacing anxiously in the entrance hall and he dropped to one knee when Alfonse grinned and ran up to him, easily wrapping his arms around the boy before standing up, Alfonse’s legs wrapped around his waist.

“There was a driving game, Baba,” Alfonse babbled, closing his eyes and dropping his head to rest on Berenger’s shoulder. “And ‘nother with dancing and pretty lights…”

“Did you have a fun time?” Berenger murmured, brushing the messy hair back from Alfonse’s forehead as he walked up the steps.

“Mm,” Alfonse hummed happily, tightening his arms around Berenger’s neck. “Got you- a pen. Laurie too. I wanna go again soon. Would you take me?”

“Of course,” Berenger said, his voice fading.

“Are we in trouble?” Ancel asked quietly, staring up at where Berenger had gone.

“I don’t think so?” Nicaise said nervously. “It was only fifteen minutes. I texted him to tell him we’d be late and it’s not even a school night. I think it’s fine.”

“What happens when it’s not fine,” Ancel asked, his heart racing. He’d never really thought about that before. Where the line was. Everyone had a line. What would happen when he inevitably crossed Berenger’s?

“What do you mean?” Nicaise asked, glancing at him sideways.

“When you get in trouble,” Ancel said faintly. “When you’re in trouble for real. What- what does he do.”

Nicaise shrugged. “I dunno. The time I bought a motorcycle he made me return it and then he told me I wasn’t allowed to use the credit card anymore.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ancel said. “I meant- does he yell? Does he…” _hit?_ He swallowed nervously.

Nicaise looked over at him, his expression somehow painful in its understanding. “No,” he said at last, quiet like he meant it. “He’s not- it’s not like that. He’s safe. It’s safe here.”

“Oh,” Ancel said, feeling a bit light headed.

There were footsteps on the stairs, Berenger returning to pause on the second story landing.

“Thank you for the text,” he said to Nicaise. “I’m glad you all had a nice time. Good night.”

And that was it. He was going back upstairs. That was it.

Ancel swallowed.

“Oh my god,” Nicaise said. “Are you like- freaking out right now?”

“No,” Ancel said, and suddenly it wasn’t that hard to smile.

“Because it kind of seems like you’re freaking out.”

“I’m not,” Ancel said, giving him a little shove. “Has anyone ever told you your eyeliner was hideous?”

“Shut up,” Nicaise said, shoving him back. “It’s supposed to be smudged. It’s grunge. I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand. You’re old.”

“I’m not old.”

“You are. You’re ancient. How are you hiding your wrinkles?”

“Shut up,” Ancel laughed.

“Whatever,” Nicaise said. “I’m gonna go play halo with my friends. You can go back to your room and inject botox in private, or whatever it is you do. Maybe you have a cream, made out of the blood of newborns.”

Ancel laughed again, feeling lighter as Nicaise took the stairs two at a time before he heard the door to his room closing. He had no idea where Laurent was, studying probably. It didn’t matter. He felt good as he went back to his own room, plopping onto the bed.

He’d only lived there for a few weeks, but the small bedroom felt way more like home than so many other places he’d stayed in.

He’d bought new sheets with a ridiculous thread count, emerald green to match his eyes. And he’d gotten pretty satin throw pillows too, and clothes to fill out his wardrobe. After the first week Alfonse had given him a picture he'd drawn of a pink rabbit and Ancel had pinned it to the wall. And then Alfonse had given him more pictures- a rainbow, a rough portrait of his mother, a drawing of Berenger standing with his arms around Laurent and Nicaise, a pink kitten. They were all up on the wall like a collage of childish delight and they were lovely.

It was temporary, of course. At the end of the semester Berenger’s offer would expire and Ancel would go back to how he was living before, hopping from bed to bed, but for now at least he could pretend he had a family.

His phone buzzed.

He considered not even looking. No one but Louans texted him now that he’d ended things with Aimeric.

His phone buzzed again.

Ancel picked it up, staring at the screen as his blood ran cold.

_Louans: We have to talk._

_Louans: I’m outside._

Ancel’s window faced the street and he jerked up to peer out and-

Louans was standing there, just a few feet from the front door. Louans saw him looking and awkwardly raised his hand in an aborted wave.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

_Louans: If you’re not coming out I’m going in._

Fuck.

Ancel felt like he couldn’t breathe as he typed out a response-

_I’m coming out._

He felt faint as he went down the stairs and slipped on his shoes, closing the door firmly behind himself to stand on the stoop.

It was October and Ancel hadn’t bothered to grab his coat. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and tried not to shiver. “What are you doing here,” he said flatly.

“Baby please,” Louans said with a pleading expression. “You just- you never let me apologize but I feel so bad about what happened.”

“You’ve apologized,” Ancel said. “It doesn’t change anything. You have to leave.”

“No,” Louans said, his face twisting with regret as he stepped closer. “You don’t understand. I’m _sorry._ It won’t be the same. I’ll treat you right, I promise. Come home? Please come home.”

“No,” Ancel said, taking a step back. “I’m not… I won’t. So please just go. You can’t be here.”

“Ancel,” Louans said.

“I’m not going with you,” Ancel said, trying to be firm.

Louans’ face twisted again, this time to something vicious. “You really think you can do better than me? Well, you can’t! You’re just a stupid whore, no one will love you more than I do!”

He reached out to grab Ancel’s upper arm with his claw-like hand and Ancel winced as he was dragged forward despite himself.

“Let go,” Ancel hissed, jerking back against the hold. Louans was stronger than he expected and he felt fear wash over him like ice.

“No,” Louans said. “You know I’m right! You know I am! Just- stop being such an uppity bitch and come home! You’ve made your point, all right?”

“Let go of me,” Ancel said, his voice wavering as tears rose to his eyes. “Let go or you’ll regret it. I swear. Let go of me right now.”

“Or what?” Louans asked, his voice lowering dangerously.

Ancel didn’t know or what. He’d left his phone upstairs and he was too far away from the door now to make a fuss anyway. Maybe Louans would just drag him away and that would be the end of it.

The front door opened.

“What’s going on here?” Berenger asked, calm. Even.

Ancel glanced back to see he was wearing a dressing gown over deep blue pajamas. He wasn’t wearing his bunny slippers, he’d never wear those outside where they could get dirty. They’d been a gift from Alfonse.

Berenger was barefoot instead, and somehow that felt… dangerous.

“Who the fuck are you?” Louans demanded. “His new boyfriend?”

Berenger’s expression twisted into disdain as he stared Louans down. “We don’t curse in this house. Let him go. Now.” There was an edge to his voice and Louans’ grip eased.

Ancel jerked out of his grasp and backed up a few steps, pressing his back against the front door. Berenger was in front of him now, between him and Louans.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” Louans said, “but he’s coming home with me.”

“With _you?”_ Berenger asked, his tone devastating in its scorn. “You’re a stale muffin of a man. I recommend you leave before I escort you off my property myself.”

Louans growled and swung at Berenger. Ancel felt his heart skip a beat, except Berenger side stepped and grabbed Louans’ wrist, moving with his momentum to twist his hand up painfully behind his back and shove him face first into the wall beside the door.

“You have trespassed,” Berenger said. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to, not when it was made of steel. When Louans tried to struggle Berenger jerked his arm up higher, threatening to dislocate his shoulder, and Louans stilled with a whimper. “You have attempted to assault me,” Berenger continued as if there had been no interruption. “You have laid hands on someone living under my roof.”

“Fuck you,” Louans managed to mumble.

“More than once, I’d wager,” Berenger said coldly.

Ancel’s gut seized up. Berenger hadn’t said anything on the day he’d showed up but he must have seen the mark on his cheek if it had still been there hours later when he’d gone to work.

“I am going to tell you what will happen now,” Berenger continued, as calm as he was unyielding. “You will leave. You will not come back. You will not attempt to contact Ancel again. Is that understood?”

“Fuck you,” Louans bit out.

“No,” Berenger said, “fuck _you.”_ He looked up and Ancel swallowed, meeting his eyes.

“Ancel?” Berenger asked. “Do you have anything to add? Would you prefer I call the police?”

“I-” Ancel said before glancing back to Louans’ red face. “I just want him gone. For good.”

“I see,” Berenger said, letting Louans go so he could stumble back a few steps, panting.

“You heard him,” Berenger said, narrowing his eyes. “Scram.”

Louans hurried away from the house and from somewhere above Ancel heard a whistle and a whoop.

“Run, bitch!” Nicaise cried out.

Ancel looked up to see him and Laurent hanging out of the window of Laurent’s room. Berenger looked up and saw them too. He pointed at Nicaise, who blew a raspberry and tossed down a sol coin that glinted in the light of the streetlights as it tumbled down. Berenger caught it and slipped it into his pocket before clearing his throat and opening the front door.

“Ancel?” he asked, back to his _I’m just a harmless Professor_ vibe instead of- whatever the hell Ancel had seen just now.

He startled at a warm hand on his lower back, steering him into the kitchen. It was the first time Berenger had ever touched him and suddenly it was the only thing he could think about.

“Sit,” Berenger said, motioning to a stool. His hands went to his belt and Ancel could only stare in confusion as Berenger took off his dressing gown and draped it over Ancel’s shoulders. “You’re shaking,” Berenger said before turning to turn on the stove.

Ancel tugged the dressing gown closed over his chest. It smelled of lemons, because of course it did. He watched numbly as Berenger went about filling a copper pot with milk and pulling jars out of the cupboards.

“I’m sorry,” Ancel said finally. “I- I don’t know how he knew I was here. I didn’t give him your address, I swear I didn’t.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to will back the tears. “I’ll leave, don’t worry. This will never happen again. Please don’t fail me.”

“Ancel,” Berenger said softly. He sounded close and Ancel looked up blearily to see that Berenger was standing right in front of him. Berenger reached out only to pause, his hand trembling between them. And then he exhaled heavily and his hand was cradling the side of Ancel’s face, shockingly warm. “Everything’s alright. You don’t have to go anywhere. You’re safe here, I promise.”

Ancel squinted up at him but everything in Berenger’s expression signaled that he was telling the truth. A sob rose unbidden in Ancel’s throat and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He looked down again, wiping at his eyes to try and hide the tears Berenger had already seen.

“Everything’s alright,” Berenger repeated.

His hand was still on Ancel’s cheek and Ancel couldn’t help leaning closer, clutching at Berenger’s expensive blue pajamas to pull him in as he sobbed with his face pressed to Berenger’s chest.

Berenger stroked his hair, awkward and earnest, and murmured meaningless reassuring things until Ancel quieted. And then he patted Ancel on the shoulder and said-

“I’m in danger of burning the milk.”

“What?” Ancel managed, looking up and finally letting go of his death grip on Berenger’s shirt.

“The milk,” Berenger said, stepping over to the stove and moving the pot off the burner. He added a few powders and spices and poured the mixture into two cups before getting a dusty bottle of brandy from the back of a cabinet and adding a generous dollop to each.

He handed one of the mugs to Ancel, which he cradled in his ice cold hands.

“I expected there might be… trouble,” Berenger said carefully as Ancel took his first sip. It was the most delicious hot chocolate he’d ever had. Of course it was- Berenger had made it. “When you mentioned a jealous boyfriend.”

Ancel winced, prepared to defend himself. Berenger didn’t give him the chance.

“I invited you here anyway,” Berenger said firmly. “I’m not afraid of trouble. I can take care of it. I just need to know what you want to do. Do you want to get a restraining order?”

Ancel shuddered out a sigh and took another sip. He felt better already, warm and settled. Safe. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “I don’t know. I thought… I always thought he was harmless. But he- he hit me. Once. And he came here. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you have messages?” Berenger asked gently. “Something you could use to prove he was harassing you?”

“I saved them all,” Ancel said, unlocking his phone and handing it over. He couldn’t quite bear to watch as Berenger scrolled through them.

The latest ones were easy enough to understand- Louans demanding to talk to him, calling him a whore. But the ones before then…

The ones before then were Ancel _being_ a whore. Dirty talk, flirting. Pictures. Berenger was going to think he was some dumb slut.

Ancel knew how it looked, but the thought of trying to explain it only made him feel more pathetic. When he'd met Louans he’d been effectively homeless, sleeping in the library between classes and carrying around all his worldly belongings in an old duffel bag. And then Louans had started coming to the club and paying for private dances. He tipped big and he never tried to cop a feel, not until they started _"_ _dating,"_ and when he suggested that Ancel move in with him it had seemed like a gift falling into his lap.

He didn’t know what Berenger did, but when he handed the phone back all the messages were gone.

“He won’t contact you again,” Berenger said. “If he tries, I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” Ancel managed to say, staring into his mug of hot chocolate.

“Rest easy,” Berenger said after a long moment of silence. “You don’t have to worry about that sort of thing any more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Berenger" is a very difficult name for kids to pronounce, so Laurent (and later Alfonse) grew up calling him Baba :)


	7. grab him by the balls

* * *

In the morning Berenger made his standard carb-loaded Sunday breakfast and neither Nicaise nor Laurent mentioned anything that might have happened the night before. Alfonse sleepily explained in excruciating detail a dream he’d had as he drowned his pancakes with syrup until Berenger gently pulled the pitcher out of his hand.

And everything was just… normal.

Ancel half-expected angry texts from Louans but his phone stayed silent. He passed the time by studying for an upcoming accounting exam- his most boring subject and, sadly, the one most necessary for his degree. When he’d decided to major in finance he’d thought it would open the door to a steady career. He’d never imagined dealing with money could be so _tedious._ Eventually he gave up to read a fashion magazine, flipping through the glossy pages and marking the outfits he liked with sticky notes.

He startled when there was a knock on his door, but it was quickly followed by Nicaise saying “yo!” so he stood and opened it.

“What?” Ancel asked.

“I’m taking Alfonse shopping for Halloween costumes,” Nicaise said. “Berenger says I need a chaperone, which is- like. Ugh. So you wanna come?”

Ancel blinked as he realized Halloween was next Thursday, right after midterms. “Okay,” Ancel said with a shrug, stuffing his phone in his pocket.

“Are you getting a costume too?” he asked as he followed Nicaise down the stairs.

“I already have a costume,” Nicaise said. “I’m gonna be The Crow.”

“A bird?”

“Not _a_ crow,” Nicaise said, rolling his eyes. _“The_ Crow. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Okay then,” Ancel said, smiling at his indignant expression. “Are you going trick or treating with Alfonse?”

“No, dumbass,” Nicaise said, already fishing in his pocket for a sol to drop in the swear jar. “I’m going to a party.”

“You’re going to break curfew?”

“I have an exemption.”

“A what?”

Nicaise let out a put upon sigh as he sat on the bench in the entrance hall to pull on his shoes, some sort of black combat boots with approximately a million buckles. “If you want an exemption from a house rule, you can submit a formal request in writing.”

His voice was flat like he was reading a particularly boring list.

“At least five hundred words,” Nicaise continued, “typed, double spaced, free of grammatical and spelling errors. Professor Killjoy reviews them on a case by case basis and decides if he’s going to approve or reject them.”

Ancel snorted out a laugh. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No,” Nicaise said, finally finished with one boot and starting on the other. “The most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard is that he has special stamps he uses.”

“You’re messing with me,” Ancel said suspiciously.

“Am I?” Nicaise asked, pulling a folded up sheet of paper out of his pocket and handing it over.

Ancel stared at the typed up essay, mostly consisting of Nicaise whining about how he had a rep to maintain and he couldn’t be the only one of his friends who wasn’t allowed to go to the party. If he wasn't allowed to go it would cause him severe emotional distress which was clearly abusive on Berenger’s part. The arguments didn’t have much substance, but they did have perfect grammar and spelling. At the bottom there was a bright green stamp that read _[APPROVED - CONDITIONAL]._

Below the stamp was Berenger's neat script- _home before 1am with BAC level under 0.1 under threat of grounding penalty (two weeks)_ and in smaller script- _have fun :)_

“Oh my god, it’s true,” Ancel said and Nicaise snatched the essay back with a scowl.

“He says he’s _providing_ _structure,”_ Nicaise said, standing. “But I think he’s just being a troll. C’mon, Fonz!” 

There was a patter of footsteps on the stairs as Alfonse came running down with excitement. He put on his own shoes, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he neatly tied the laces, and then he took Ancel and Nicaise’s hands to pull them towards the door.

Ancel liked to keep a mental tally of how many people Nicaise pissed off with his too-careful by-the-book driving. On the way to the costume store it was four.

“What are you going to be?” Nicaise asked as they wandered the isles after Alfonse.

“What do you mean?”

“For Halloween, duh.”

“Nothing?” Ancel asked. There’d be parties all over campus and it wasn’t like he needed a personal invitation to go. But he didn’t really know anyone and he wasn’t trying to hook up, so it all seemed kind of pointless. “I wasn’t going to do anything. I’ll probably stay home and hand out candy to trick-or-treaters when Berenger takes Alfonse out.”

“Lame,” Nicaise said. “I can’t believe I thought you were cool.”

“Whatever, I am cool,” Ancel said. “Cooler than _you,_ Crow. I looked up that movie you know. It came out before you were alive. Your friends aren’t going to know what you are, they’ll just think you’re an emo clown.”

“No one says emo anymore,” Nicaise said, rolling his eyes. “Loser.”

Ancel looked over at Alfonse, standing in front of the section of costumes labeled _Boys: Ages 8-12._ His lip was quivering. As Ancel watched he sniffled a little and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

“Oh honey, no,” Ancel said, kneeling beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“They don’t have the one I wanted,” Alfonse said, his voice wobbling pitifully.

“They don’t?” Ancel asked, putting a hand on his shoulder as he looked over at all the costumes. “Which one did you want?”

“I wanted to be a daisy.”

“Okay,” Ancel said, scanning the costumes even though he knew they were shit out of luck. There definitely wasn’t a daisy costume in the _Boys: Ages 8-12_ section. “Well if you want to be a daisy, you can be a daisy.” He bit his lip, thinking. “There… might be a costume like that in the girls section, do you want to go see?”

“No!” Alfonse said, his face bright red as he scowled. “Because I’m not a girl!”

“You walked right into that one,” Nicaise muttered and Ancel shot him a glare.

“Okay,” Ancel said. At least Alfonse wasn’t crying anymore, so he counted that as a win. “Well, who needs this stupid store anyway. Come on.” He stood and offered his hand to Alfonse, who took it hesitantly.

Ancel marched out of the store. Alfonse glared at the employees as they left and climbed back into the car.

“Uh. So now what?” Nicaise asked.

“Now we go to the fabric store.”

Nicaise looked at him sideways. “You’re going to make a costume?”

“Yes,” Ancel said.

“Do you even know how to sew?”

“It’s going to be fine,” Ancel announced. “How hard can it be?”

Nicaise drove them to the fabric store, where Alfonse gleefully picked out colorful felt. They got glitter too, and fabric paint, and a glue gun, and a headband, and sewing stuff for good measure. They went to a clothing store afterwards to get Alfonse green pants and a smart little green pea coat before heading home.

When they got back Laurent was off studying and Berenger was holed up in his study, so the house was quiet as Ancel set out all their stuff over the kitchen island. For all his complaints, Nicaise sat down too, watching as Ancel helped Alfonse cut out pink and purple flower petals before gluing them to the headband. Eventually even Nicaise deigned to help, reaching for the dark green felt to cut out leaves.

Berenger came downstairs at five to get started on dinner and paused as he watched the arts and crafts display before him. “What’s all this?”

“The store didn’t have the costume I wanted,” Alfonse announced, “so Ancel said we could make our own.”

“He wants to be a daisy,” Ancel said, wincing a little as he looked at the mess of glitter and paint and cut bits of fabric strewn about the kitchen island. “We’ll clean up.”

“You don’t have to rush,” Berenger said. “There’s still an hour until dinner.” He leaned in to take a closer look at their efforts, moving to absently straighten Alfonse’s hair.

“The petals are felt,” Ancel said, not sure why he felt the need to explain himself. “We’re going to paint them and- and put glitter on. And- we got him a green jacket too. We’re going to safety pin leaves to it, but afterwards we can take them off and he can still wear it.”

“That’s nice,” Berenger said. “It looks like you’re doing a very good job. What do you think, Alfonse?”

Alfonse beamed easily. “I think it’s the best!”

“Maybe after dinner I can help too,” Berenger said. He smiled, not as wide as Alfonse but clearly pleased.

Ancel felt his heart fluttering and a blush rising to his cheeks so he looked down and started gathering up some fabric scraps to throw away.

Laurent didn’t come home for dinner that night, too busy studying, so the four of them spent the rest of the night finishing up Alfonse’s costume. After he went to bed Nicaise whined that it was TV night but Berenger firmly announced that they’d be waiting for Laurent.

“Whyyyyy,” Nicaise groaned. “He can just catch up on his own!”

“Think of it this way- we can watch two episodes next week.”

“Ugh, this is so unfair,” Nicaise muttered. “I’m gonna go play video games then. Good night.”

“Good night,” Berenger said as Nicaise stomped away.

“I think I’ll turn in too,” Ancel said. “I have an early class tomorrow.”

Berenger’s lips quirked up a little. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Ancel asked, taken aback.

“Exams are a difficult time for me,” Berenger said. “I worry I can’t give Alfonse the attention he needs. I appreciate what you’re doing for him.”

“Oh,” Ancel said, blushing. “Well. I mean. He’s a sweet kid, so it’s not like it’s a hardship. And anyway, I should probably pull my weight more around here if I’m getting free room and board.”

Berenger frowned faintly and Ancel shivered. He’d meant it as a joke, but it didn’t really feel like a joke anymore.

“I want to make sure that you're getting what you need too,” Berenger said. “That includes telling you that you’re welcome and wanted here. Maybe one day you’ll even believe it. Good night, Ancel.”

Ancel’s throat felt a little tight as he watched Berenger go.

* * *

Ancel aced his midterms. He knew he did, he didn’t even need to see his grades. Laurent finally relaxed a bit, though now Berenger was buried under an avalanche of term papers to grade. He still made time to take Alfonse trick-or-treating. Ancel stayed back handing out candy to happy kids in silly costumes, making sure to _ooh_ and _ahh_ appropriately.

There were a lot. It turned out Berenger was the type to hand out full-size candy bars like some sort of maniac. Ancel didn’t even mind the groups of kids that came around looking guilty after they’d clearly traded masks so they could get seconds. He appreciated the ingenuity, and children learning early to screw over the system. And anything to lower the stock of delicious chocolate in the house could only benefit him in the long run.

Berenger and Alfonse returned around eight thirty with a bunch of Alfonse’s friends, and all the kids lay sprawled out on the rug before the fireplace and sorted their stashes with all the severity of little bankers, negotiating for ages about how many tootsie rolls a ring pop was worth, and the exchange rate between bite sized snickers and jolly ranchers.

Berenger watched with an indulgent smile as he leaned in the doorway but didn’t interfere, clearly just happy that Alfonse was having fun with his friends.

In light of the holiday, Alfonse’s bed time was pushed back by a whole thirty minutes, which meant by the time 9:30 rolled around he was completely conked out as Berenger carried him off to bed.

Ancel made himself comfortable in the library, just in case there were any late trick-or-treaters. By ten that didn’t look like it was going to happen. And then his phone buzzed.

Ancel froze. It was Louans. Was he here again? Was he going to… do something?

It buzzed again and he took a deep breath before steeling himself to look.

_Ice Bitch: SOS_

_Ice Bitch: HaLP_

What the-? It was Laurent. His number had been on the list of important numbers and Ancel had saved it into his phone on that first day, just in case. He’d scrawled his own phone number on the bottom and the next day the sheet had been replaced, his number added in a neat 12 point serif font.

_Are you ok? Where are you_

_Ice Bitch: PGK_

Ancel frowned at the screen. Laurent was at… a frat? Which meant he was at a Halloween party. Which didn’t seem like him at all.

_I’m coming to get you. Do you want me to call the police?_

_Ice Bitch: Fphk_

_Ice Bitch: FUCk_

_Ice Bitch: Fhk u! No. Nvm m fine_

Oh hell no. Ancel grabbed his coat and left, carefully locking the front door behind himself. 

It only took him ten minutes to jog down to frat row and before long he was pushing his way through a humid smoke-filled room and rowdy college kids yelling and dancing and being generally terrible. He looked around for the distinctive gold glint of Laurent’s hair and finally saw him in the corner, sitting on a couch while some giant jock leaned over him with a leer. It wasn’t Laurent’s jock, it was some Veretian gorilla of a man with a jaw like a brick.

“Laurent,” Ancel said cheerfully, walking over to him.

Laurent looked up and glared. His face was flushed and his eyes were a bit unfocused. Was he just drunk or had he taken something?

“I said it was fine,” Laurent said. “Go away. I’m getting laid.”

“Oh sure, got it,” Ancel said. “Except you’re pretty wasted so how about I take you home instead.”

“Bro, fuck off,” the gorilla man said, glaring. “We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Aw, but then I’d get left out,” Ancel said, smiling easily. “Why don’t you scooch over so I can talk to my friend.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Laurent said. “I’m talking to Govart.”

“You heard him,” Govart said smugly.

“We’re gonna- do sex,” Laurent said, swaying a little. Despite it he seemed determined, which Ancel couldn’t help but admire.

“How about no,” Ancel said firmly.

“How about you fuck off,” Govart said, standing to loom over him.

Ancel looked him up and down. He was huge, sure. But he was wearing loose basketball shorts and it was the easiest thing in the world to reach out and grab him by the balls, squeezing threateningly. Govart squeaked, his eyes wide with shock.

“How about _you_ fuck off,” Ancel said sweetly. He squeezed a little harder.

“Alright!” Govart managed. “Alright, fuck!”

Ancel let him go and he stumbled backwards, cursing. “Crazy bitch,” he muttered under his breath before wandering away.

“Oh look,” Ancel said, widening his eyes innocently as he turned back to Laurent. “Your boyfriend left. We’re going home now.”

Laurent grumbled but didn’t resist as Ancel pulled him up to stand. And then he groaned and shut his eyes, swaying.

“What is going _on_ with you,” Ancel muttered, ducking under Laurent’s shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist before leading him out of the stuffy frat. The cool night air was a blessing and Laurent took a deep breath, and then another. Maybe it would help sober him up some.

“I don’t wanna leave,” Laurent said.

“Yes you do. Why else did you text me?”

“Dunno,” Laurent said with a scowl, a little cross eyed as he stared at his feet. “Govart started hitting on me and I got a little freaked. And then I decided- fine. I might as well just- lose my virginity tonight.”

“To _that_ guy?” Ancel asked incredulously. “Gross. What happened to your jock?”

Laurent’s face crumpled into despair. “He’s dating Jocaste.”

“Who?”

“Blonde icy bitch.”

“Oh hey,” Ancel said cheerfully, steering them slowly towards home. “That’s good news. Seems like you’re just his type.”

Laurent sighed heavily. “I’m not. I’m just a loser and a… nerd… virgin. Ugh. No wonder he doesn’t want me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Ancel said. “He makes eyes at you all the time. It’s disgusting.”

Laurent didn’t seem convinced, but at least he didn’t argue. “I wanna puke.”

“Good. You should.”

Laurent moved to stare at him incredulously.

“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy,” Ancel said. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise. Look- there’s a nice bush right over there. Go puke behind it.”

He led Laurent over and helped him kneel down, staring at him expectantly. Laurent had his eyes wide as he stared at the ground, breathing slowly through his nose. The little shit was trying to hold it back. Idiot.

“I can’t believe you were going to fuck Govart,” Ancel said conversationally. “He’s the sort of guy that doesn’t shower after the gym. He probably hasn’t washed those shorts in at least a week. He probably has dick cheese-”

Laurent groaned and threw up.

“There you go,” Ancel said, rubbing his back as he resolutely did not look.

Eventually Laurent made a sort of whimper and stumbled back from his mess, spitting a few times before looking up at the night sky with a ragged gasp. “My mouth tastes like death.”

“Great.” Ancel stood and offered Laurent a hand up, though he seemed steadier on his feet now. “The faster we get home the sooner you can rinse out your mouth. Now let's go.”

For a while they walked in silence, but of course that couldn’t last for long.

“Why do you hate me,” Laurent said flatly.

Ancel nearly stumbled over his own feet. “I don’t hate you,” he said, glancing at Laurent who continued resolutely staring at the ground.

“Yeah you do.”

“I-” Ancel paused, swallowing. It was fine, Laurent probably wouldn’t even remember any of this tomorrow. “When I first moved in… I thought you were dating Berenger. I guess I got… jealous. Or something. And then we just didn’t really hit it off but that doesn’t mean I _hate_ you. And anyway, it’s not like you’ve been that friendly either. So- so maybe I should be asking why _you_ hate _me!_ ”

Laurent’s lips flattened into a thin line. “He gave you Gus’ room.”

“What?”

“My brother, Auguste. He’d stay in your room when he’d come visit. Where is he going to sleep now? What if he doesn’t want to visit anymore? I miss him. I miss him all the time.”

Ancel wasn’t sure what to say to that so he stayed silent. He couldn’t help feeling guilty, even though none of that was really his fault. If Laurent wanted to be mad at someone, he should be mad at Berenger, not Ancel. Somehow that reasoning didn’t seem particularly convincing.

“And you’re going to break Berenger’s heart,” Laurent continued quietly. “He’s going to fall in love with you, and then you’re going to leave and break his heart for good. He’s not… normal, you know. He’s like a fucking… seahorse. He mates for life.”

Ancel cracked a smile but Laurent just glared at him. Oh. He was _serious._

“He had a boyfriend, once,” Laurent continued, looking back down at the ground like it would disappear if he didn’t keep an eye on it. “When he was nineteen. The boyfriend ended up cheating two years later and they broke up. I don’t think he’s been on a date since then. It’s like he’s… traumatized or something. But he’ll fall in love with you, I can tell. And it’s going to destroy him.”

Laurent fell silent as Ancel’s thoughts raced. The idea that Berenger could _fall in love_ with him was- it was crazy is what it was. His face felt hot even in the cool night air. He swallowed.

“Who knows,” Ancel said, trying to keep his voice light, “maybe I’ll just stick around forever. Marry him for his money, be his kept boy. He’ll feed me chocolate croissants in bed every morning and instead of working I’ll just go shopping all day.”

Laurent snorted out a laugh. “As if he’d let you eat in bed. Are you crazy?”

“He’ll bring me breakfast on a silver tray,” Ancel insisted, smiling. “With a crystal vase with a single red rose in it.”

“Think of the crumbs,” Laurent moaned.

Finally they were back at the house and Ancel shushed Laurent before unlocking the front door. It was quiet inside, dark but for the gently glowing blue night lights plugged into every outlet. The fireplace was banked down to embers, Berenger and Alfonse were asleep and Nicaise was still out at his party. Ancel helped Laurent over to the sink so he could rinse his mouth and drink water before rooting through the first aid kit for some aspirin.

“Please tell me you can walk yourself up the stairs,” Ancel said as Laurent swallowed the pills. “I won’t be able to carry you.”

Laurent opened his mouth to reply only to stop when they heard Berenger’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

Laurent giggled. “Busted.”

Ancel felt his palms getting clammy even though he wasn’t the one that was about to be in trouble. Berenger came in and flipped on the light, looking at the two of them in confusion. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

Laurent giggled again. Berenger frowned.

“Laurent. Are you- _drunk?”_

“Wasted,” Laurent said through his giggles.

“Why?” Berenger seemed so confused that Ancel felt the sudden hysterical urge to laugh too. “That’s not like you. Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

“Boy troubles,” Ancel said. “You know how it is. It’s good you’re here, I don’t think I can take him to bed on my own.”

“I’ll take him,” Berenger said. “Would you please bring along a glass of water and some aspirin?”

“Sure,” Ancel said, turning away to fill a glass as Berenger helped Laurent up the stairs. He followed eventually to find Berenger fussing over Laurent, tucking him in like he was a child and not a grown drunk-off-his-ass man.

“He did say something,” Ancel said quietly, setting the water and aspirin on Laurent’s nightstand. “He said… he was worried about where Auguste was going to sleep. He was worried he wouldn’t visit so much now that- uh. Now that you gave me his room.”

“Narc,” Laurent muttered.

Ancel smiled. “Now I know where Nicaise gets it from.”

Laurent pulled an arm out from under the blankets to flip him off.

“Thank you for telling me Ancel,” Berenger said. “I hope you sleep well.”

“You too,” Ancel said awkwardly as he left. Behind him he could hear Berenger’s quiet reassuring voice, telling Laurent that everything was alright, that Auguste would visit no matter what.

He didn’t feel quite so guilty anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. for those not aware... The Crow is a real movie, and in retrospect, the main character does in fact look like an emo clown XD


	8. running out of steam

* * *

If Laurent was hung over the next day, he didn’t show it. Which was really unfair because he’d been  _ drunk.  _ Drunk-drunk. The last time Ancel had been that drunk he’d spent two days lying in bed trying not to barf.

There was a short break after midterms, which Berenger spent holed up in his office grading term papers, emerging only to cook and participate in regularly scheduled household activities. On Saturday Ancel volunteered to take Alfonse on his “enrichment activity,” and both Nicaise and Laurent joined them to go mini golfing.

It was fun for a bit, even though Laurent beat them all by a mile, but it was too cold to stay out for long so they ended up retreating to a quiet coffee shop after less than an hour. It was the sort of coffee shop that had board games arranged on shelves on the walls. Laurent commandeered the credit card to buy all of them fancy hot chocolate and overpriced sandwiches and Nicaise picked out some convoluted strategy game that had a forty page booklet of instructions.

It ended up being kind of fun regardless as they spent two hours on a single round, playing as characters trying not to die on a spaceship as everything insisted on going haywire. They won in the end, even though Nicaise and Ancel had to bravely sacrifice their characters to do it. Laurent, it turned out, had been a double agent the whole time and was finally taken down in an epic battle by Captain Alfonse.

They returned at five thirty to an uncharacteristically quiet house. Berenger wasn’t in the kitchen cooking like he normally would be. And that felt so- wrong. He didn’t alter his routine. Not without a five hundred word essay and a green rubber stamp.

“Uncle Berry?” Alfonse said, looking up. For a while there was nothing, and then Berenger came down the stairs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose under a pair of reading glasses.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I lost track of time. I’ll have dinner ready soon, I just-”

“No,” Laurent said firmly. “Pizza night.”

Nicaise whooped and picked Alfonse up, spinning him around a few times as he chanted- “Pizza night! Pizza night!”

Alfonse laughed.

“Alright,” Berenger said, his expression softening. “I need to finish up a few things. Laurent, could you-?”

“Yes,” Laurent said, turning away to pick up the kitchen phone. He paused, looking over at Ancel. “We always get a pepperoni, a margherita, and one plain cheese. What kind of pizza do you like?”

“Uh,” Ancel said. “Pineapple and ham?”

“Ugh,” Laurent said, rolling his eyes as he punched in a phone number, but when he placed the order he included Ancel’s selection too.

Dinner was a much less structured affair than usual. They ate in the library huddled around the coffee table with the TV on- some animated movie about a magic princess that Alfonse watched with wide eyes. It wasn’t even that lame, for a kid’s show. It was pretty and light with the occasional moment of surprisingly adult humor that clearly went over Alfonse’s head.

After a while Nicaise elbowed Laurent in the side, waggling his eyebrows pointedly. Laurent responded by turning down the volume and standing to grab a soft throw from where it had been draped over the back of a lounge chair. Nicaise wordlessly started cleaning up plates and pizza boxes.

Ancel opened his mouth to ask what was going on but Laurent shook his head and pressed his finger to his lips, pointing. Ancel looked to see that Berenger had fallen asleep where he’d been sitting on the couch. He looked oddly vulnerable like that, a real person for once instead of some crazy breakfast machine. There was faint stubble on his normally clean-shaven cheeks and Ancel felt the sudden urge to touch.

_ Help me,  _ Laurent mouthed, so Ancel stood too. He helped lift Berenger’s legs up onto the couch while Laurent maneuvered his upper body with all the precision of a surgeon. Berenger didn’t wake. Laurent tucked the throw around him and turned the lights off, leaving the movie playing as he took Alfonse by the hand and led him upstairs. Ancel followed, feeling oddly warm to be involved in their unspoken routine.

They ended up in Nicaise’s room, which was frankly a mess of laundry and sneakers and who knew what. His walls were covered in messily-hung posters of various emo clowns, who Ancel assumed were rock stars or something.

Nicaise had approximately every single game system known to man, and a TV that was only a little smaller than the main one downstairs. He handed out controllers and started up some bright racing game that Ancel tried his best not to suck at to no avail. It was still pretty fun and Ancel lost himself in the silliness of it until his phone alarm rang out and he had to stop, setting down his controller.

“Ancel?” Alfonse asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, honey,” Ancel said with a small smile. “It’s just time for me to go to work.”

“Why?” Alfonse demanded, his eyes watering. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“Of course I am,” Ancel said gently.

“Don’t you like it here, with us?”

“Of course I do,” Ancel said, reaching out to set his hand on Alfonse’s shoulder. “I do, I promise. But I have to go to work.”

_ “Why?”  _ Alfonse insisted. “Why would you leave? If there’s something you need you can just ask Uncle Berry-”

_ “Alfonse,” _ Laurent said, taking his hand.

“No!” Alfonse exclaimed, standing. “Why are you leaving? Why do you have to go so late? I wanted- I wanted you to do my bedtime! What do you even  _ do? Why?” _

Ancel swallowed, feeling awful in the face of Alfonse’s childlike confusion. He couldn’t exactly tell him the truth, could he.  _ Oh, I’m just going to the club, where I turn men on for money and rub my ass against their cocks. _

“Fonz,” Nicaise said. “Just… be cool, little man. He’ll be back for breakfast tomorrow. It’s fine.”

“It’s  _ not  _ fine!” Alfonse said, stamping his foot. “I thought you were my friend!” He turned and ran to his own room, slamming the door.

Ancel buried his face in his hands with a long sigh. “...Fuck.”

“Dramatic little shit, isn’t he,” Nicaise muttered.

“I could- I guess I could call in sick or something,” Ancel said. “I feel like I screwed up.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Nicaise said. “He’s a kid. Are you gonna let him bully you? Do what you have to do.”

“But I made him cry,” Ancel said, looking up.

“He made himself cry,” Nicaise said, rolling his eyes. “He’s gotta learn that sometimes people have to do other stuff. It’s fine.”

There was no way in hell  _ Nicaise  _ was the voice of reason. Ancel looked over at Laurent, instead. Laurent just reached out to hesitantly set his hand on Ancel’s shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll put him to bed and he’ll be over it by tomorrow. But if you wanted to stay… you could stay.”

Ancel swallowed. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “But I- I’ll see you in the morning.”

He felt strange as he trudged back to his own room and got his stuff- his keys, his bus pass. He really did want to stay. But he couldn’t.

This wasn’t permanent, no matter what anyone said. So Ancel had to make money and build up his savings, his buffer. There would come a time when he’d have to take care of himself on his own again, so he couldn’t get used to the way it felt living at Berenger’s house- easy and warm. This wasn’t his life. He was just borrowing it, for now.

He usually liked working. He liked the attention, liked making men want him. He liked the money too, and the complements. Before, that had been his only source of human connection, the only form of reassurance that he was sexy, wanted. It had been the only thing he did outside of sleeping and schoolwork.

But now it just made him feel sick to his stomach. Now he had other options. He could play video games with Nicaise, or paint Alfonse’s nails, or study with Laurent. He could argue with Berenger about some dumb poem or he could simply sit alone in the giant tub with his bath bombs and a glass of wine and a fashion magazine.

He wanted that so much more than he wanted any of the sleazy old men leering at him at the club.

“Baby, you make my cock so hard,” someone said with a grin.

Ancel turned to him and forced a smile. “Oh yeah, daddy?” he purred, slinking closer. “How about a private dance?”

* * *

  
Everything went alright for a while, until he got an insistent client who kept trying to slip his fingers under his thong. Ancel let it slide a few times, giggling and pushing his hands away, and then he got more forceful so Ancel put up a stink, calling Pallas in to escort the man outside.

He got chewed out for it afterwards, and  _ excused  _ early. He made it home by three and managed to take off his shoes before running out of steam, collapsing at the kitchen counter and burying his face in his hands. He didn’t cry, because crying was for chumps.

But he did make a point of breathing slowly, evenly, until he heard a rustle of cloth and looked up to see Berenger, yawning and holding the throw closed over his shoulders as he came in from the library and took a seat beside him.

“Isn't it past your bedtime?” Ancel muttered.

“You're back early,” Berenger said. “Is everything alright?”

Ancel shrugged, looking down at the counter. Berenger moved a little to press their shoulders together and that felt- good.

Ancel breathed out a shuddering sigh, leaning closer. It was ridiculous-morning-o-clock, so anything he did right now didn’t count anyways. He moved to press his face to Berenger’s shoulder, moving one of his hands to cover his eyes so he wouldn’t cry.

It wasn’t like anything horrible had happened. It wasn’t like anything out of the ordinary had happened at all, but now he just felt… awful.

“Ancel?” Berenger whispered.

“You’ve broken me,” Ancel whispered back. “I used to be okay and now I’m… I don’t know. Spoiled. Or something. It shouldn’t bother me so much when some asshole tries to cop a feel.”

Berenger stayed silent but he wrapped an arm around Ancel’s shoulders. If Ancel sniffled a few times, Berenger didn’t mention it.

“I've been meaning to talk to you,” Berenger said. “Maybe now is a good time.”

“Three am on a Sunday?” Ancel muttered.

“It’s about your job,” Berenger said. “You're not feeling so great about it right now so I'm hopeful you’ll be more receptive to my proposal.”

Ancel snorted. “That's very devious of you.”

Berenger shrugged a little, not enough to dislodge Ancel from his shoulder.

“I’m teaching more classes than usual next semester. I'll need a TA.”

Ancel frowned, sitting up, and Berenger’s hand fell away from his shoulder.

“You said you'd looked into it in the past,” Berenger continued before Ancel could protest, “but the money wasn’t enough. I'm hoping you'd consider it now that you don't have to worry about expenses. And before you complain that this is some sort of-  _ pity-  _ on my part, I’d like to inform you that you're the best student I've ever had.”

Ancel flushed, staring down at his hands pressed to the black marble counter. “My expenses… I- does that mean I can stay here for another semester?”

Berenger breathed out sharply. “Did you think I’d kick you out at the end of this one?”

Ancel shrugged, fidgeting with his fingers. “Of course not. I figured at some point there would be a politely-worded double spaced letter slipped under the door or something.”

_ “No,”  _ Berenger said vehemently. “Never. You're welcome to stay for as long as you like.”

“I’m a  _ stripper,”  _ Ancel muttered. “How is that PG? How is that creating a wholesome environment for Alfonse? I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but we both know it can’t last much longer.”

“Alfonse loves you,” Berenger said seriously. “He talks about you all the time. He talks about how much he loves having you around. And it’s no wonder- you’re so good with him. He’d be devastated if you left.”

Ancel huffed out a laugh. “It’s not fair to use him against me.”

“You did it first,” Berenger said. “And whatever made you think I was fair?”

Ancel felt on the verge of crying again so he buried his face in his hands, breathing slowly.

“Think about it,” Berenger said. “The TA position. It’ll be longer hours for less money so it’s certainly not pity. But at least you could maintain a normal sleep schedule over the weekend. And I’d rather have  _ you _ than some thick-skulled frat kid who doesn't understand the difference between a metaphor and a simile.”

“...I’ll think about it,” Ancel whispered at last.

“And another thing,” Berenger said.

“Oh my god,” Ancel said. “Aren’t you talked-out yet? It’s three am.”

“Not yet,” Berenger said, and Ancel could practically hear the smile in his voice. “What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

Ancel swallowed. His plans had been to go down to the club. There were always plenty of sad sacks hanging around during the holidays. He’d been planning to make some tips, pick someone up. It had been a while since he’d turned tricks, but he remembered how it was done.

It was a lucrative opportunity. He could probably make a grand or two, easy, and sleep over at some rich asshole’s hotel room while he was at it.

“Don’t worry,” Ancel said. “I’ll be out of your hair.”

“What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Berenger asked sharply.

Ancel turned to look at him, frowning. “I’ll get a hotel room. Then you can give my room to Auguste, or whoever else you want. It’s fine. I don’t want to be in the middle of your family holiday anyway.”

Berenger looked completely aghast. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He swallowed, and then he opened it again. “You’re not spending Thanksgiving alone in a hotel room.”

Ancel didn’t correct him on the issue of being  _ alone. _

“I won’t stand for it,” Berenger continued. “In fact- I forbid it. I know I have no authority to forbid it but I forbid it anyway. You’ll stay here with us.”

“Will I?” Ancel asked, oddly charmed.

“Yes, you will,” Berenger insisted. “Do you know how much work goes into Thanksgiving? I’ll be cooking for days. It’s all hands on deck. Nicaise is only good for washing dishes and Laurent- bless his heart- is likely to burn anything he touches. I’ll need your help to make the holiday a success.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Ancel said, smiling.

“I’m simply explaining the situation,” Berenger said. “You’re welcome here. You’re wanted here. Please stay.”

“Okay,” Ancel said, looking down to hide his blush. “Alright. I’ll stay.”


	9. cruel homoerotic fraternity living arrangements

* * *

On Sunday Berenger made pancakes shaped like bears with blueberries for eyes and noses and little bow ties made of halved strawberries. And of course there was a full-on charcuterie board too, like that was any sort of normal breakfast offering. Berenger didn’t mention what they’d talked about the night before and Ancel didn’t either.

Alfonse was quiet as he ruthlessly beheaded his bear pancake before offering a mumbled apology when Nicaise poked him in the side.

And then it was Monday and classes resumed as usual. At the beginning of psych lecture Ancel sauntered over and plopped himself down into the seat beside Laurent.

“Hi, Lulu,” Ancel said with all the smugness of a pleased house cat. “Who’s your friend?”

“Uh,” said Laurent’s jock.

 _What are you doing?!_ Laurent mouthed. Ancel ignored him in favor of leaning forward and offering the jock his hand, palm down and wrist limp like he was the Queen and was expecting him to kiss it.

The jock looked down at it before shaking it awkwardly. “Uh. Damen. Are you Laurent’s friend?”

“No,” Laurent said.

“Damen?” Ancel asked, widening his eyes in mock surprise. “Not _the_ Damen? Laurent! When you told me about him, you never said he had the _prettiest_ eyes.”

“Ancel,” Laurent gritted out, a splotchy blush staining his cheeks.

Damen grinned widely. And oh, he had a dimple. Laurent had good taste.

“You talk about me?” Damen asked, blushing too. Though it was harder to make out with his dark complexion.

“Oh look,” Laurent said, staring straight ahead. “Class is starting. We should probably be quiet and pay attention now.”

Ancel dutifully took notes for the rest of the class, and when Laurent tried to make a hasty retreat Ancel got in his way, blocking him.

“So, Damen,” Ancel said conversationally while Laurent shot him a murderous glare. “Big sexy guy like you, what are the chances you’re single?”

“I’m dating Jocaste,” Damen said. There was something in his tone, a hint of discomfort. He blushed as he glanced at Laurent and looked away. Laurent didn’t see it because he was too busy staring at Ancel, mouthing threats at him that were frankly horrifying. They were both so fucking stupid.

“Jocaste?” Ancel asked lightly. “The pretty blonde? I always thought she was dating that other guy. You know, handsome guy, looks kind of like you. I saw them kissing at a party last weekend.”

“What?” Damen asked, his tone strangled.

“Oh honey,” Ancel said, affecting a wince of sympathy. “I’m sure it was some other blonde and I’m just mistaken. I can be _such_ an airhead sometimes, and I’ll admit I was kind of tipsy.”

“I have a brother,” Damen said slowly.

“Oh?” Ancel asked, batting his eyelashes. “Does he go here?”

“He’s the TA for Jocaste’s history class,” Damen muttered. “I- I have to go.” He turned and hurried off without another word. Once he’d left the room Laurent grabbed Ancel’s shirt with a snarl, shaking him a little.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed.

“It’s obvious isn’t it?” Ancel said, disentangling Laurent’s fingers from his shirt. It was a silk blend and Laurent was dangerously close to stretching it out. “I’m helping you.” 

He looked after where Damen had practically run out. “I mean, that was just a shot in the dark but hot damn. If she’s _actually_ cheating on him with his brother I think I’ll have to become a professional psychic or something.”

Laurent groaned and took a step back. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fucking by the end of the month,” Ancel assured him. “How did you even manage before I was around?”

“I managed just fine,” Laurent gritted out and Ancel finally turned to let him leave. They walked out of class together and into the cool November air.

“Oh please,” Ancel said. “I think we both know that’s not true. How do you think he fucks? I bet he’s nice and slow, all gentle touches and _oh Laurent, your skin is the color of cream and softer than cashmere! Oh Laurent, your hair is spun gold and your eyes make me swoon!”_

“Shut up,” Laurent said.

“Here’s the plan,” Ancel said, ignoring him. “We’re going to break him up with Jocaste, and when he’s all good and vulnerable you’re going to swoop in and tap that fine ass. I can get us an invite to his frat and we’ll get you all dolled up.”

Ancel looked him up and down. “I’m thinking leather pants for you.”

_“No.”_

“Oh fine,” Ancel said. “A pair of black pressed slacks and a dark blue shirt, like always. It’s like you have a uniform.”

“My clothes are fine.”

“We should get you an earring. Which one is the gay ear? Damen seems a little thick, he probably thinks you’re straight or something. I bet that's why he hasn’t asked you out yet. Do you have earrings? Are your ears even pierced?”

Ancel turned to see that Laurent looked pale and a little constipated, which probably meant he was annoyed. But his ears _were_ pierced, at least.

“...I can borrow some from Nicaise,” Laurent muttered.

 _“Earrings?”_ Ancel asked in horror. “From _Nicaise?_ What sort of earrings could he possibly have? I’m not letting you out of the house with spikes on.”

Laurent smiled wryly and leaned in a little like he was sharing a secret. “Before his whole grunge phase, Nicaise’s greatest dream in life was to be a sparkly princess. He wore more pink than _Alfonse._ He has a whole jewelry box of stuff Auguste and Berenger got him. I’m pretty sure he still dresses up and wears it sometimes, though he’d never admit it.”

“And he never offered to share?” Ancel asked, fake put-out. “Monster.”

For a while they walked in silence, and then Laurent made a little sound at the back of his throat. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “This seems… unethical.”

“What’s unethical is how he makes eyes at you while he’s dating someone else. If he cheats on you, I’ll rip his balls off.”

“If he cheats on me,” Laurent said with a truly terrifying grin, “I’ll rip his balls off myself.”

* * *

It turned out Ancel didn’t have a career as a psychic in him after all. His prediction of “at the end of the month” had been seriously off because at the end of the week he heard a quiet scuffle outside and threw open his window to peer out.

Damen was in the process of climbing out of Laurent’s window while Laurent watched him with dazed love struck eyes and spit-slick lips, his hair an absolute mess.

“Uh. Hi,” Damen whispered.

“Hello, lover,” Ancel purred, looking at the interesting shade of red spreading over Laurent’s face. Busted.

“Bye,” Damen whispered and climbed the rest of the way down, waving to Laurent before stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking away, whistling faintly.

“Was this some _funny business_ I’ve just caught you engaging in?” Ancel asked conversationally, propping his chin in his hands to frame his smug smirk.

“No,” Laurent said.

“Oh, I think yes,” Ancel said.

“Don’t tell Berenger,” Laurent said. “We can’t- we can’t go anywhere else. Damen has like four roommates. It’s the worst.”

“What a sad little tale,” Ancel said, inspecting his nails. “A pair of star crossed lovers, kept apart by cruel homoerotic fraternity living arrangements. The housing system sure is a bitch, isn’t it.”

“Ancel,” Laurent hissed. “Don’t tell him. Are you going to tell him?”

“Hmmm,” Ancel said, really savoring it now.

_“Ancel.”_

“No,” Ancel announced. “Not yet, at least. It’s going to cost you though.”

“Ugh. What do you want?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to think of something good. But you realize your ass is mine now, right?”

Laurent sighed heavily and grumbled as he pulled back into the house and closed his window with a final-sounding thump.

Ancel went back to lie in bed, grinning as he thought of what he wanted to make Laurent do. They took turns cleaning up after meals, so Ancel could make him do it all the time instead. But he kind of liked those quiet moments in the kitchen, alone with Berenger while he put together lunch boxes and Ancel loaded the dishwasher. He had to wash the knives and pans by hand, and he liked that too. The soft splashing of warm water, the smell of lemon rising in the air when he poured dish soap over the sponge.

It was a quiet sort of domesticity he’d never had before and he didn’t want to give it up.

But he had something on Laurent now and he couldn’t just _not_ use it.

He made Laurent do his psych homework instead. They had to do stupid online quizzes every week, which was a horrible waste of time. Laurent’s grasp of the material was just as good as Ancel’s was, and he was too much of a goody-two-shoes to screw with him, so Ancel gave him his login and password and let him get on with it.

He considered making Laurent do his laundry too, but the little heathen probably had no idea how to correctly hand wash silk or cashmere, and Ancel wasn’t about to let him ruin his things.

They did end up going to a party at Damen’s frat though. Laurent even let Ancel help him get dressed and they settled on a pair of tight jeans and one of Ancel’s shirts, a conservative blue silk number that looked oddly obscene on the normally so buttoned-up Laurent. Nicaise lent them a pair of sapphire earrings and Ancel wore one while Laurent wore the other.

It was fun for a while. They drank cheap beer and played beer pong. Ancel even danced with one of Damen’s friends, a hunky Akielon named Nikandros. He was unfailingly polite and didn’t even try to grab Ancel’s ass which was a little insulting.

When the song finished Ancel looked over to see Laurent sitting in Damen’s lap on the couch, making out shamelessly. Something twisted in his gut, something close to jealousy but not quite. The last person he’d kissed had been Louans and it hadn’t even been that good. It had been ages since he’d gotten laid and Nikandros clearly wasn’t up for it. Ancel found himself feeling oddly bereft.

He let Laurent know he was leaving and headed home. It wasn’t even that late when he got back, just ten pm. He’d expected Berenger to be asleep already but he was sitting at the kitchen island with cookbooks strewn open before him, jotting down neat notes in a leather-bound journal with all the concentration of a rocket scientist.

“You’re still awake?” Ancel asked, taking off his shoes before taking a seat beside him. If he sat close enough that their shoulders brushed, Berenger didn’t mention it.

“Hm,” Berenger hummed, turning a page in one of the books to a recipe labeled _Coq Au Vin._ “Where is Laurent?”

“He’s at a party at his boyfriend’s frat,” Ancel said, using the pretense of glancing at Berenger’s notes to press himself to his side. 

He was warm and smelled of lemons. His fingers looked so elegant wrapped around a fancy-looking fountain pen as he wrote out a list of ingredients in his journal. Ancel wondered what Berenger’s fingers would feel like on him, in him. Warm and steady, probably. He’d probably have lemon-scented lube or something, and he’d look so good flushed and messy with desire, his eyes dark and the muscles of his arm flexing as he twisted his fingers up, moving in and out-

“That’s nice,” Berenger said. “I’m glad that the two of you are finally getting along.”

Ancel swallowed, looking away. “We always got along.”

Berenger hummed again, a small noise of amusement. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

Ancel snorted. His heart was fluttering oddly, sitting pressed so close, so he moved back. “What are you doing?”

“Thanksgiving is next week. I’m planning the menu.”

“Already? It’s not until Thursday.”

“You can never be ready too soon,” Berenger said firmly. “I’ve already ordered the turkey. And the wine. But I’ll have to get the rest of it at the store this weekend.” He jotted down more notes and flipped to a fresh page in his book.

“I should warn you, Auguste is coming on Tuesday, and my sister on Wednesday night. I think you’ll get along just fine with Auguste but my sister can be… _difficult.”_

“Okay,” Ancel said slowly. “She… she does know I live here, right?”

Berenger looked up from his notebook to frown. “Of course she does. But she can be very… blunt. About things. Please try not to take anything she says personally.”

“Oh?” Ancel asked. “What is she going to say?”

Berenger waved his hand vaguely. “I don’t know. _Things._ She’ll probably ask you all sorts of inappropriate questions. She’s protective of Alfonse, so I try to be understanding. But she can be… a lot.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Ancel said with a smile. “You’ll be here to protect me, right?”

“Ancel,” Berenger said. “She’s my _sister._ My older sister. I can’t even protect myself, much less anyone else.”

Ancel couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “Oh my god. Does she like, bully you?”

“I’m sure that’s not what she’d call it,” Berenger said, looking back down at his notes even though he made no further attempts to write. He was smiling. “She’s probably going to tell you all sorts of embarrassing childhood stories. I only ask that you try not to think less of me.”

Ancel laughed again, bumping his shoulder against Berenger’s. “I’ll do my very best. I promise.”

* * *

  
By the time Tuesday rolled around Ancel had almost forgotten the conversation he’d had with Berenger.

It was a normal enough night. Ancel was studying in the library downstairs, the rest of the house quiet, when he heard muffled laughter at the front door followed by fumbled attempts at the lock.

He closed his book and stood, wandering over just in time to see the front door opening.

Berenger was there, his arm draped over the shoulders of a ridiculously handsome blonde man whose soft curls were pulled back into a simple knot at the back of his head. The family resemblance was unmistakable- this had to be the infamous Auguste, Laurent’s older brother.

Berenger was grinning in an unabashed way Ancel had never seen before. And he was drunk off his ass.

“Hi there,” Auguste said with a friendly smile, looking Ancel up and down. “Oh Baba, your collection of pretty boys just keeps growing, doesn’t it.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Berenger said, swaying on his feet. “Nickie and Fonz are children. And Laurie’s your _brother.”_

“You admit this one’s pretty, then,” Auguste said, extending his free hand for a handshake. He wore a heavy gold signet ring with a symbol of a starburst on it.

Ancel blushed and shook his hand.

“I plead the fifth,” Berenger muttered.

Auguste laughed and Ancel blushed brighter. Did Berenger think he was pretty?

“You must be Ancel,” Auguste said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?” Ancel asked, moving to shut the door while Auguste maneuvered Berenger to sit on the bench, crouching down before him to unpick the laces of his brown leather shoes.

“Only good things, I promise,” Auguste said with a wink.

Berenger closed his eyes as he leaned his head back to rest against the wall. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was mussed. That was probably what he looked like during sex, too. Relaxed and happy, not so stiff.

“How are you liking it here?” Auguste asked, jerking Ancel out of his dirty thoughts.

“Um, it’s nice,” Ancel said.

“Sure,” Auguste said agreeably.

“Are you the King?” Ancel blurted out.

Auguste froze.

“Here we go,” Berenger muttered, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Not since the Unification Treaty of Marlas two hundred and thirty seven years and sixteen days ago,” Auguste said. “I don’t know what they were thinking- establishing a _Representative Democracy_ in New Artes. I could have been ruling the world by now, and instead I’m a glorified consultant with a fancy family heirloom.”

“Oh stuff it,” Berenger said. “If you were the King you wouldn’t have been allowed to have sex until your wedding night. Instead you spent the last two months in Skarva in the Empress’ court as a cultural attache. Judging by your drunk texts, you had a lovely time.”

He couldn’t seem to manage to keep his eyes focused, but he could keep his words straight. It must have been some sort of Literature Professor super power.

“You’re right,” Auguste said with an easy smile. “I take it all back. Is there even a reason to keep living without meaningless casual sex?”

“I can assure you, there are several,” Berenger said dryly. “I could name four for you right now.”

“How very un-Veretian of you,” Auguste said, standing and helping Berenger up. “When was the last time you’ve gotten some?”

“That is- inappropriate,” Berenger muttered.

“Sure. Let’s get you off to bed, big boy.” Auguste turned back to Ancel, still standing awkwardly in the entrance hall. “Good night,” he said with a wink and started the laborious process of getting Berenger up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the non-american readers- 'Plead the Fifth' comes from the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution. When someone "pleads the Fifth," they're excusing themselves from answering a question, typically when it could incriminate themselves.
> 
> ;)


	10. the sharks are coming

* * *

In the morning Ancel went down for breakfast to see Berenger still in his pajamas and dressing gown as he sat at the kitchen island, looking pale and miserable as he cradled a cup of black coffee in his hands. Auguste was at the stove, making eggs and sausage while Laurent told him in great detail every single thing that had happened since they’d last seen each other.

“So when am I going to meet this boyfriend, hm?” Auguste asked. “And does he know that I can beat him up yet or are you saving that for the first time he pisses you off?”

“Please don’t beat up Damen,” Laurent said. He looked completely relaxed and at ease in a way Ancel rarely saw him.

“Then he’d better not break your heart, huh,” Auguste said before moving to set a huge platter of food on the kitchen island.

Ancel blinked as he stared at the mound of sausage and eggs. Where were the sides? The fruit salad? The multiple beverage options? And then he couldn’t help laughing as he realized what a spoiled shit he’d become, to think of Berenger’s morning feasts as something _normal._

“Ow,” Berenger moaned, rubbing at his temples.

Ancel pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle his laughter, even though he couldn’t help the way his shoulders were still shaking.

Auguste looked over, watching Berenger fondly. Under different circumstances Ancel might have assumed they were fucking, but he knew by now that Berenger didn’t fuck anyone, apparently. The expected stab of jealousy never came.

“You’re such a lightweight,” Auguste said, still fond. “Tell me, do you still drink a single glass of wine once a week?”

“I had one and a half after I finished grading midterms,” Berenger said, reaching over to spoon eggs onto his plate. That seemed to be the unofficial signal for the start of breakfast and the next few minutes passed in silence other than chewing. The food was pretty good, but Ancel couldn’t help comparing it to Berenger’s cooking. His eggs were better somehow, creamier. And when Berenger cooked sausage it ended up less greasy, the outside more crisp and the inside juicier.

“Where did you end up sleeping?” Ancel asked Auguste.

Auguste grinned and messed up Laurent’s hair while Laurent groaned and batted his hand away.

“Laurent and I had a sleepover,” Auguste said.

“Yeah, and you woke up three times to go to the bathroom and you _snored.”_ Laurent didn’t seem particularly upset even as he complained. “Maybe you should get your prostate checked, old man.”

“Don’t worry, I get my prostate checked at regular intervals,” Auguste said, waggling his eyebrows.

Nicaise groaned in disgust, Laurent joining him.

 _“Gus,”_ Berenger said.

“What?” Auguste said innocently. “Prostate isn’t a swear.”

“You’re on thin ice.”

“What’s a prostate?” Alfonse asked.

Berenger sighed heavily. “It’s a part of the body. The word comes from an Ancient Akielon word that means ‘one who stands before’. It functions to secrete a fluid that is slightly alkaline-”

Alfonse sighed heavily too, his eyes glazing over. “Got it, boring adult stuff.” He went back to his eggs and Ancel couldn’t help being impressed at the way Berenger had side-stepped that whole topic.

“Who did your pretty nails, Fonz?” Auguste asked and Alfonse lit up with a smile, showing off his nails- pink glittery bunnies on a background of purple- and babbled happily about how good Ancel was at making fancy pictures. He really had outdone himself this time- the bunnies had whiskers and everything.

“Uncle Berry, do you think Maman is going to like them?” Alfonse asked, peering up at Berenger uncertainly.

“Of course she will,” Berenger said, patting him on the shoulder. “Ancel did such a good job. I’m sure she’ll love them.”

Alfonse beamed and Ancel tried not to blush, focusing resolutely on his eggs.

Even though it was only Wednesday, Auguste volunteered to take Alfonse out on an “enrichment activity,” Laurent and Nicaise going with them.

“You don’t want to come?” Auguste asked Ancel with a friendly smile.

Ancel shook his head with a smile of his own. Something about how _close_ they all were made him sort of uncomfortable, like he was intruding on something sacred. “I have some school work to do,” he said instead. “You know, _one of my Professors_ is a real slave driver.”

“Lies and slander,” Berenger muttered.

“Suit yourself,” Auguste said with a shrug. He tossed his keys to Nicaise, who stared at them in shock. “Wanna drive, Nickie?”

“Oh my god,” Nicaise said slowly, like he couldn’t believe his ears. “You’ll let me drive the _Jag?!”_

“Yeah, kid,” Auguste said with an indulgent grin. “Maybe tomorrow we can take her for a spin outside the city, really open her up.”

“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving,” Berenger said, in the process of unscrewing a bottle of aspirin. “Friday.”

“Okay, Friday,” Auguste said easily.

Nicaise was practically vibrating with excitement as he headed the expedition of going outside while Ancel finished cleaning up after breakfast.

Berenger swallowed his pills before moving to sit on the couch, turning on the TV to some friendly baking show where everyone talked in soft voices and cheerful music played in the background.

“It’s Wednesday,” Ancel said, wandering over to join him on the couch. “I figured you’d be elbow-deep in flour by now.”

“Maybe once I’m not feeling quite so much like lukewarm death,” Berenger murmured, putting his feet up on the coffee table and dropping his head back to rest against the back of the sofa with a quiet groan. “I’m just going to… rest here for a while. If I’m not up by noon, please wake me.”

“Sure,” Ancel said, hiding his grin behind a book.

He pretended to read while he was actually watching the baking show and sneaking occasional peeks at Berenger napping on the couch. And then it was noon and he gently shook Berenger awake.

He seemed to feel better as he stood with a groan and went upstairs, returning to the kitchen in a pair of black slacks and a neat white button down shirt. He was in the process of rolling up his sleeves as he came into the room, which made Ancel think unnecessarily dirty thoughts, so he looked away until Berenger pulled out his journal and a bunch of ingredients.

The next few hours were spent companionably enough with Ancel following Berenger’s instructions- chopping up vegetables and kneading dough. Berenger made approximately a fuck-tonne of different sauces and Ancel prepared three different salads, which included making three salad dressings from scratch.

At four pm there was a firm knock on the door and Berenger stiffened, looking a little pale.

“She’s here,” he said in the same tone someone else might have said _the sharks are coming._

“Uh. Okay,” Ancel said.

He could hear the door being unlocked and opened, the clacking of high heels over the hardwood floors. He looked up from where he’d been rolling out a pie crust just in time to see a slim severe-looking woman step into the kitchen, looking around critically. She must have been at least six feet tall, and that was without the heels.

“Clarisse,” Berenger said.

“Berry,” she said. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and she was wearing horn rimmed glasses and a pants suit in a dark wine red. “Where is Alfonse?”

“Out with Auguste and the boys,” Berenger said.

“Doing what?”

“They’re at the spy museum,” Berenger said, “so I imagine they’re eating freeze dried ice cream and playing at decoding secret messages.”

“Hm,” Clarisse said, turning her cold gaze on Ancel. “So this is him. The stranger you’ve invited into your house, where my son lives.”

“He’s hardly a _stranger,_ Clarisse.”

“Uh, hi,” Ancel said, reaching out to offer his hand to shake only to belatedly realize it was covered in flour. Clarisse turned down her nose and Ancel drew back.

“Ancel, is it?”

“Yes?” Ancel said, his hands shaking faintly.

“Yes?” Clarisse asked. “Are you asking me a question? Do you not know your own name?”

“Don’t bully him,” Berenger said. “He’s been a huge asset to this household. Alfonse loves him. They’re the best of friends.”

Ancel blushed as Clarisse’s gaze grew somewhat less critical. “Berry, won’t you fetch my bags from the car?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not leave you alone with him,” Berenger said evenly.

“Well,” Clarisse said, walking forward and sitting at the kitchen island, careful to keep away from the mess of flour strewn about the surface. “Fine. I suppose if he’s allowing you to help cook, that’s an endearment in and of itself. Ancel. Tell me about yourself.”

“Please do not interrogate him,” Berenger said, carefully stirring the sauce in the pot he’d been watching before taking it off the heat. “Would you like some wine?”

“Yes,” Clarisse said, her gaze still boring holes in Ancel. “Chardonnay, chilled.”

“Of course,” Berenger said, going over to the fridge to get a bottle. “Ancel?”

“Sure,” Ancel managed to say.

“How old are you?” Clarisse asked.

“Old enough,” Ancel said defensively.

“And your parents,” Clarisse said, “where are they?”

 _“Clarisse,”_ Berenger hissed. He poured two glasses and gave one to Clarisse, the other to Ancel.

“Excuse me?” Ancel asked faintly, clutching his glass of wine- which he noticed was much more full than usual- like a lifeline.

“Your parents,” Clarisse repeated. “This house seems to be the haven of lost boys. I’m just curious to know how well you fit in.” She pointed at Berenger and then herself. “Dead parents. Auguste and Laurent- dead parents. Nicaise- dead parents. And of course- Alfonse. I’m still kicking, for now, but his father? Dead. How about you?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Berenger said, glaring at his sister. “Could you please be civil for a single day, or would it kill you to-”

“My mom’s dead,” Ancel said, his heart pounding and his back prickling with cold sweat. “Overdose. My dad… I ran away from home five years ago. I don’t give a shit if he’s dead or alive. Does that answer your question?”

“Hm,” Clarisse said, narrowing her eyes. “And you. Do you have substance abuse issues? Alcohol? What’s your damage?”

“Clarisse!” Berenger exclaimed. “Stop it! Ancel is a wonderful person and he’s here to stay, so-”

“I’m a stripper,” Ancel spit out, glaring at her. “And I used to fuck men for money. But I’m going to give it up by the end of the year, and next semester I’m going to be a TA instead.”

Clarisse seemed taken aback. And then she smiled like a wolf staring at a lamb it was about to devour. “I see. Honest. I like that.”

“I promised Ancel he’d be safe in this house,” Berenger said. “That includes being safe from _you._ Please, could you _just-”_

Clarisse snorted, raising her hand to shut Berenger up. “Consider it done. Ancel. I’ve deemed that you’re acceptable. Would you accept the olive branch of me telling you the story of how Berry here peed his pants when he was in kindergarten?”

 _“No,”_ Berenger said, looking aghast.

“Yes, please,” Ancel said with a small smile.

“One of his little friends brought a tarantula to school for show and tell, and-”

 _“Clarisse!”_ Berenger yelped.

“And,” Clarisse said, staring at Berenger cooly. “I think the rest of the story tells itself.”

Berenger reached out and took her glass of wine, pouring it pointedly down the sink while she stared, mouth open in outrage. “Only cheap beer for you from here on out,” Berenger said, grabbing a can out of a cupboard.

“It’s not even cold!” Clarisse said.

“Only nice sisters get cold beer.”

“Ancel,” Clarisse said. “I’ll trade you.”

“Don’t trade her, she doesn’t deserve it.”

“I’m just going to… get back to this dough,” Ancel said, backing away with his glass of wine clutched closely to his chest.

Clarisse made a point of sighing loudly before cracking open her beer. She was a lot nicer after that and eventually Ancel even managed to relax a little.

Berenger finished up his Thanksgiving prep by five, at which point he started cooking dinner and the front door opened with a squeal of childish delight.

“Maman!” Alphonse yelled, barrelling into the kitchen with his sneakers still on.

Clarisse’s demeanor changed in an instant from cast iron bitch to doting mother as she wrapped him up in her arms and spun him around a few times, raining kisses on his face while he laughed.

“Look at you, sweetheart,” Clarisse cooed. “You’ve gotten so big! Come, show me your room. Have you drawn any new pictures for me?”

Between the high pitch of Alfonse’s excited declarations and how quickly he was speaking, Ancel could barely make out what he was saying as they made their way upstairs.

“You’re alive,” Auguste said, looking at Ancel in wonder.

“I have been deemed acceptable,” Ancel said with a nervous giggle before taking a sip of wine. His glass was almost empty. Huh. He hadn’t noticed drinking it all.

“Impressive,” Auguste said. “It took her three years to deem me acceptable.”

“Because you kept hitting on her,” Berenger said. “She doesn’t appreciate that sort of behavior.”

“I’ll have you know most people find me charming!”

“My sister isn’t _most people.”_

While they kept bickering Laurent poured himself a glass of wine too, and refilled Ancel’s. 

Dinner was livelier than usual with Auguste and Clarisse joining them at the kitchen island, and afterwards Auguste started a fire in the firepit in the back yard and Clarisse showed Alfonse how to make s’mores.

Ancel was probably tipsy by then, because he felt warm and sleepy and good.

Nicaise had made himself a double decker s’more and was getting melted chocolate and marshmallow all over his face as he tried to eat it when Berenger leaned in a bit closer, bumping Ancel’s shoulder with his own.

“Did you mean it?” Berenger asked quietly. “You’ll take the TA position?”

Ancel blinked at him, suddenly unsure. He’d said it in the heat of the moment, more to defend himself than anything else. He’d half expected it not to be on offer anymore after he’d blurted out… the rest of it.

“Please say yes,” Berenger said. “I’ve been reviewing the other applications and they make me want to weep.”

The longer Ancel stayed, the worse it would hurt when he finally had to go. But he was greedy, and selfish, and now that he finally had something _good_ he was going to grab it with both hands and hold on for as long as he could.

“Sure,” he said with a smile. His heart fluttered when Berenger smiled back.


	11. Nicaise had to go and ruin it

* * *

Ancel woke to a knock on the door and groaned when he turned to his clock to see it was six in the morning. _Six._ In the _morning._

 _“Ancel,”_ Nicaise hissed, stepping inside.

Ancel groaned again. He’d stopped locking the door to his room a while ago. At first he’d forgotten, and then no one ever came in without permission so it didn’t seem to matter much anyway. But of course he hadn't factored in Nicaise being an asshole.

“What,” Ancel moaned as Nicaise strode over and yanked his blankets back.

“Come _on,”_ Nicaise said. “Wanna see something cool?”

“The inside of my eyelids,” Ancel muttered as he let Nicaise manhandle him up into a sitting position. He was stronger than he looked, and before long Ancel was yawning and rubbing his eyes as Nicaise pulled him into his own room, shutting the door behind them. The room was dark and Ancel huffed out a curse when he stubbed his toe on something hard and plastic.

Nicaise had the audacity to _shush_ him as he led him to look out the window.

Nicaise’s room, like Alfonse’s, was at the back of the house, the window looking out over the fenced-in backyard. The fire from last night was still burning, or maybe it had been built back up, and with the sun just barely beginning to rise, the fire was the main form of illumination. Ancel could hear the clash of what sounded like steel against steel, and see dancing shadows.

“What the hell,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

The picture became clearer as the shadows resolved into familiar silhouettes- Auguste and Berenger, and they had- _swords?_ Or at least Auguste had a sword, Berenger had a shorter blade in one hand and a dagger in the other. As he watched, Auguste swung at Berenger, who knocked the sword away with his dagger before trying to stab him in the gut with the other blade. Auguste dodged the hit with a quiet laugh.

“Are they sword fighting?” Ancel asked, not sure he could believe his eyes.

“Yeah,” Nicaise said, watching with interest.

_“Why?”_

Nicaise shrugged. “Rich people. Who knows why they do anything.”

Auguste did something fancy and too quick to make out and the short blade spun out of Berenger’s hand. Berenger threw the dagger at him but Auguste must have been expecting it. He ducked and it flew past him to lodge into the wooden fence with a loud thwack. By then Auguste had already tackled Berenger to the ground, his sword at Berenger’s throat.

“Laurent, help me,” Berenger panted.

Was Laurent down there too?

Ancel craned his neck to see that he was, wearing his jogging outfit as he stood with one hand on his hip and the other leaning on a sword pommel, the tip stuck in the ground. “Not a chance,” he said with a laugh.

“Take your loss like a man,” Auguste said, patting Berenger on the side of the face before standing and offering his hand.

“Bad form,” Clarisse said. She didn’t have a sword, at least. She was sitting in one of the wicker chairs by the fire wearing an elegant silk robe and sipping coffee. “Have you not been practicing? At this rate I’ll have to hire an outside tutor for Alfonse.”

“Some of us have full time jobs, Clarisse,” Berenger said, moving to retrieve his weapons.

“I have a job,” Clarisse said. “While Gus is off gallivanting about at Vaskian coupling fires, I’m maintaining the security of our borders.”

“No one forced you to join the army,” Auguste said easily. “Besides, I’m more of a lover than a fighter. Now come on, Baba. Let’s go again.”

They fought again to much the same result. Except when Auguste had Berenger on his back, Berenger elbowed him in the gut and flipped them over. In the ensuing scuffle Auguste lost his sword and things got messy.

“Now you’re just brawling,” Clarisse complained, but didn’t move to step in as Berenger threw a punch that Auguste intercepted, using his momentum to twist Berenger’s arm behind his back and roll them over so he was kneeling on Berenger’s back. Berenger had used a similar maneuver to subdue Louans what felt like ages ago. Now Ancel knew where he’d gotten it from.

Berenger used his free hand to grab a fistful of dirt, chucking it blindly at Auguste’s face. Auguste reared back in surprise and Berenger used the opening to twist out of his grasp and wrestle him down to the grass, putting him into a hold Auguste couldn’t wriggle out of.

After another minute of struggling Auguste sighed and stilled, holding up two fingers in defeat.

Berenger backed off and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face, leaving behind a streak of dirt over his forehead.

“You cheated,” Auguste complained.

“Why is it that whenever you win it’s skill, and whenever I win you claim I cheated?” Berenger was grinning as he panted, his sweaty athletic t-shirt clinging to him even more than usual. Ancel swallowed, hard.

“Because Akielon wrestling moves are cheating, you traitor,” Auguste said, getting to his feet. “Laurent, your turn.”

Berenger moved to sprawl out in a chair next to his sister and Laurent took up position in front of Auguste.

“At least you’re staying in shape,” Clarisse said. “For a paper pusher that wasn’t half bad.”

“Thanks,” Berenger said with a good-natured laugh. They kept talking in quiet tones, heads close together, but Ancel couldn’t make their conversation out anymore as Laurent and Auguste started sparring.

“Do you sword fight too?” Ancel asked, glancing over suspiciously at Nicaise, who was still watching, utterly entranced.

“No, duh,” Nicaise muttered. “What am I, a character from _Captive Prince?_ Sword fighting is stupid. And pointless. Unless you’re landed gentry, apparently.”

“How do you even know what _landed gentry_ means?” Ancel teased.

“I _read,”_ Nicaise muttered. “Anyway, I’m taking Vaskian Kickboxing classes. More useful than sword fighting anyday. Who needs a sword if you can use your fists.”

He was still watching intently as Auguste proceeded to beat Laurent three times in a row, helpfully offering pointers at regular intervals. The fight between Laurent and Auguste, while interesting, was nowhere as exciting as the one between Auguste and Berenger had been. When it came to his brother, Auguste seemed oddly polite, even restrained. Ancel couldn’t imagine the two of them rolling around on the ground, grunting as they tried to throw dirt in each other’s faces and get any kind of cheap hit in.

Ancel’s eyes slid away from the fight and back to where Berenger was sitting. He didn’t hear what Clarisse said but Berenger threw his head back in a laugh before lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe at his face and he was-

Well. Not _ripped,_ exactly. Lean, well built. It shouldn’t have been a surprise- he went jogging with Laurent every morning and apparently he trained with swords like some sort of lord out of a fairy tale. Ancel’s mouth went dry regardless.

“This was uh, fun,” he said, patting Nicaise on the shoulder. “I’d better get ready for the day though.”

“Whatever,” Nicaise mumbled, folding his arms on the window sill and leaning his chin on them. “Aunt Clarisse might fight Berenger next, if you wanted to stay. She’s wicked good.”

“I’d better hop in the shower before they come back and use up all the hot water.”

“Suit yourself,” Nicaise mumbled and Ancel walked out.

He felt a bit dazed as he turned on the water and climbed into the shower. He couldn’t help thinking of the quiet grunt Berenger had made when Auguste had pinned him to the ground that first time. The sight of Berenger lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe at his face played on a loop behind his eyelids.

It wasn’t until he was finished washing his hair that he realized he was hard.

 _“Fuck,”_ he whispered under his breath, resolutely staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t jerk off in the shower he shared with Nicaise and _Alfonse._

“Okay,” he muttered, turning the water to cold and hurrying through the rest of the shower. He tried to think of something unsexy but the only thing that came to mind was the quiet grunt Berenger had made, the way he’d twisted out of Auguste’s hold and pinned him with his face pressed to the grass-

He was a _Professor,_ for fuck’s sake. How was any of this fair?

Ancel climbed out of the shower and toweled off furiously, annoyed and still turned on. He’d been handling his stupid crush on Berenger pretty well, considering, and then Nicaise had to go and ruin it.

He pulled on his bathrobe and wrapped his hair up in his towel, resolved to do the sensible thing and go to his room and never think about any of this ever again. Except the bathroom had a window too, looking out over the back yard. And he could still hear steel and laughter outside.

Ancel drifted over to peer out. The sun had started to rise, bathing the clearing in a soft golden glow. Berenger was fighting Auguste again, except now Berenger’s shirt had a neat diagonal slice through it, revealing half his chest. Because of course. Ancel gripped the windowsill so hard his knuckles went white as he stared at the way Berenger’s muscles glistened with sweat.

There was still a streak of dirt on his forehead from when he’d pushed his hair back before, and that was just unfair. This whole thing was unfair.

“Okay,” Ancel muttered. Clearly never thinking about this again wasn’t going to work.

That was fine. He was excellent at adapting to changing circumstances.

“Okay,” Ancel said to himself once more.

He was going to fuck Berenger. And this time he meant it.

* * *

Now that he’d made the decision Ancel felt surprisingly at ease. He went back to his room and locked the door, making plans while getting dressed. He was going to seduce Berenger. Next semester probably. He’d probably get all weird and twitchy if Ancel tried to fuck him while he was still his student.

But next semester, he’d be Berenger’s TA. They’d be spending a lot of time together- late nights in the office grading papers, bitching about students over drinks, “accidentally” sitting too close, “friendly” back rubs and-

Well, Ancel didn’t really know what being a TA entailed but he was certain he could use it to his advantage.

He’d need to get lube, maybe a toy or two. It had been a long time since anyone had fucked him and he needed to make sure he was ready. Or maybe Berenger preferred it the other way around? He certainly hadn’t seemed to mind being pinned to the grass by Auguste.

Ancel paused in the middle of brushing his hair as he considered that thought. It was certainly… interesting. Ancel had never fucked anyone before, the men he’d been with had other expectations. But he couldn’t deny he was curious to try it, especially with Berenger.

Ancel resumed brushing his hair, pushing the thought away. Lube and toys were the first order of business. There was a sex shop close to campus and he certainly had enough cash in his savings by now to get whatever he wanted. Or should he use Berenger’s credit card? That might be a provocative opening volley.

Except he wasn’t entirely sure Berenger even checked the statements, just paid the balance every month without really looking into it. Maybe if he bought something outrageously expensive Berenger would check. But what if he assumed it was someone else making the purchase? Laurent? Nicaise? He’d probably be too embarrassed to ask and the gesture would be wasted.

Ancel took extra care with his hair and make up now that he had a goal in mind. He knew Berenger pretty well by now, it shouldn't be so hard to find his buttons and push them. Berenger was serious, studious, kind, if a little awkward. He dressed plainly and valued substance over appearance. And yet Ancel was certain he hadn't imagined the hint of desire in his eyes on that long-ago day in class when he'd tried and failed to seduce him.

He dressed as usual- tight high waisted jeans and a loose silky blouse. He pulled his hair back into a simple braid and tied it off with an emerald green ribbon, going for a more natural look with his make up. The outfit wouldn't be entirely complete without a set of heels but they didn't wear shoes in the house so it would have to do.

When he made his way downstairs it was to find Berenger, freshly showered and dressed once more in his usual outfit of slacks and a white shirt, putting a giant turkey into the oven.

“It’s a bit early, don’t you think?” Ancel asked, leaning against the counter and making sure to strike a pose that seemed casual while still putting his best assets on display. For lack of heels he stood up on his toes a little to make sure his calves were tense and his ass looked extra good.

“I’m slow-roasting the turkey,” Berenger said absently, adjusting the pan as though whether or not it was aligned perfectly in the oven would affect the final result. “Would you mind helping me put out breakfast? There’s a covered tray in the refrigerator.”

“Of course,” Ancel said, trying not to sound too put out by the fact that Berenger hadn’t seen his pose. He put out the tray, which turned out to contain a full charcuterie board with five different types of cheeses, three types of sausage and three more types of cold cuts, and four different types of crackers along with toast points as well as toasted pita. There was already a pot of coffee brewing and the tea kettle had just finished boiling. There was a pitcher of lemonade, probably freshly made, standing on the kitchen island.

“A light breakfast, I see,” Ancel said with a grin.

“We have to leave room for Thanksgiving dinner,” Berenger said, finally closing the oven door and straightening.

Ancel reached out to take a piece of cheese, eating it slowly while Berenger looked at the platter with his eyebrows pinched down into a frown.

“It’s not enough,” he said finally. “I’ll make waffles.”

“Stop,” Ancel said with a laugh, moving to grab Berenger by the upper arm when he went for the cupboard containing the flour. “It’s plenty. Don’t work yourself up.”

“You’re sure?” Berenger asked, sounding a little lost. It was strange to think he was the same person who’d wrestled another man into the dirt less than an hour ago.

“I think having your sister around is making you a little crazy,” Ancel said gently.

“Well.” Berenger smiled a little and stepped back from the cupboard. “That’s certainly true.”

Their quiet moment was broken by Alfonse running into the kitchen and barreling into Berenger with a laugh, hugging him around the waist.

“Hello there,” Berenger said with a smile, patting him on the head. “Is everything alright?”

“Just happy,” Alfonse said, his voice muffled in Berenger’s shirt. “Maman’s here. She came to wake me up.”

“Did she,” Berenger said, brushing Alfonse’s hair back from his forehead.

Alfonse nodded before letting go and climbing up to sit in one of the stools, reaching for a cracker while Ancel poured him a glass of lemonade.

“Where is she sleeping, anyway?” Ancel asked as Nicaise came down too, already dressed in his grungy best.

“She’s commandeered my bedroom,” Berenger said with a faint wince.

Ancel laughed. “Where are _you_ sleeping then?”

“My office. There’s a couch.” Berenger went to the fridge, opening it up and rooting around.

“What are you doing?” Ancel asked with another laugh. “There’s plenty of food for breakfast.”

“Fruit,” Berenger muttered. “There has to be fruit or she’ll scold me. She’ll think I’m not providing a diet with enough nutrients.”

Ancel snorted, burying his face in his hands. “That’s ridiculous. You’re being utterly ridiculous.”

“What does _utterly_ mean?” Alfonse asked, stuffing a piece of cheese into his mouth.

“Cow tits,” Nicaise muttered. “It’s where milk comes from.”

Ancel only laughed harder, completely unable to stop himself. At least the statement was enough for Berenger to pull back from the fridge to stare at Nicaise in shocked disbelief.

 _“Utterly_ means completely and without qualification, absolutely. And don’t say _tits_ in front of Alfonse.”

 _“Tits_ isn’t a swear!” Nicaise complained, throwing his hands up.

“What are _tits?”_ Alfonse asked with a suspiciously innocent expression, just in time for Clarisse to walk into the kitchen and gasp, covering Alfonse’s ears with her hands.

“What are you teaching my boy?” she demanded.

“Oh please,” Ancel managed through his laughter. “You wouldn’t have let him live here if you had even an inkling of a doubt that Berenger wouldn’t provide the proper environment. I only met you yesterday and I already know that.”

Clarisse narrowed her eyes, glaring. 

“You’re too clever for your own good,” she said at last, letting go of Alfonse to sit next to him and pick up a slice of prosciutto. The glare was frankly terrifying, but it was worth it for the way Berenger looked a little stunned like the thought had only just occurred to him. And then he smiled, as smug as the cat who’d stolen the cream, and that was even better.

“Don’t get ideas,” Clarisse muttered. “And where is the fruit?”

* * *

Thanksgiving dinner was the most lavish meal Ancel had ever seen outside the banquet scenes on _Captive Prince._

There was too much food to fit on the kitchen island so Ancel and Nicaise moved the furniture in the library off to the sides and Clarisse and Auguste set up a large dining table in the center of the room. Laurent set the table with delicate porcelain plates gilded with gold and honest-to-god silverware- made of _silver._

There was a whole centerpiece of squash and pomegranates and decorative golden leaves and candles. Not to mention the food, varied and endless, everything delicious. The wine flowed freely, the conversation even freer. Ancel was ready to take a nap afterwards and it was barely six pm.

Nicaise did take a nap on one of the couches they’d pushed out to the edge of the room, Alfonse cuddled up next to him under a soft throw.

It was a group effort to get the leftovers put away into the fridge, and then everyone still awake- which by some miracle included Ancel- went back to the fire pit outside with after dinner cordials.

“What are we thinking for midwinter?” Auguste asked with an easy smile, sipping cognac from a delicate crystal glass.

“We could have it here if you like,” Berenger said.

“It’s unfair to expect you to host the next gathering,” Clarisse murmured, her face relaxed. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Auguste grinned lazily and patted Berenger on the shoulder in agreement. “We could go to Arles maybe, but it'll be a mess that time of year.”

“So Aquitart,” Laurent said. “It’s nice and quiet, and we can go skiing. It’s perfect.”

“It’s settled, then,” Clarisse said. “Do you know how to ski, Ancel?”

Ancel startled at the sound of his own name, looking away from the fire to see that everyone was watching him. “Wh-what?”

“Do you know how to ski?” Clarisse repeated. She looked him up and down before taking another drink. “No matter. We’ll get you an instructor and you’ll be flying down the mountain in no time. Maybe Berry will teach you, he’s quite good.”

Ancel blinked at her slowly, confused.

“Well, you _are_ joining us for midwinter in Aquitart, aren’t you?” Clarisse said impatiently. “We can’t have you drifting about this empty old house all alone during the holidays, it’s unconscionable.”

“I was going to- to work,” Ancel said.

“Absolutely not,” Clarisse said. “I simply won’t hear of it.”

“Can I invite Damen?” Laurent asked.

Auguste smiled like a shark. “Yes. In fact- I insist you do. What’s he like? Is he hunky? Do you want Arnoul to prepare him a separate room or will you two be sharing?”

“Auguste,” Laurent said, flushing. Auguste continued his good-natured ribbing while Laurent grew more and more flustered, and just like that- the question of Ancel joining them for the holidays was decided.

He looked up to see Berenger smiling at him. When he saw Ancel looking, Berenger raised his glass in a silent toast.

Ancel echoed the motion with a smile of his own, remembering what Berenger had said to him twice now. _You are welcome here. You are wanted here._

Ancel was starting to believe it.


	12. a number of priceless antiques

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689485/chapters/60164080#workskin) for a picture of Alfonse :)

* * *

Starting classes again after the fall break felt like waking from a bizarre dream. Alfonse and Laurent moped around for a few days after Clarisse and Auguste left, but quickly enough everything returned to normal.

There were only a few weeks until finals and they passed in a blur.

Ancel quit his job completely in preparation for going away for the holidays. Pallas got him a coupon to a steak house as his going-away present. Lazar got him a fancy purple dildo with a weird knot on the base as big around as a soda can.

“...Thanks,” Ancel said, frowning down at it. It wasn’t even in a box or a bag or anything. “I can’t go on the bus with this.”

“Sure you can,” Lazar said with a grin. “How did you think I brought it here?”

In the end Ancel wrapped it up in a spare shirt, which was good because he bumped into Berenger and Laurent heading out for their morning jog when he got home.

Without classes or work taking up his time he hung out with Nicaise and Alfonse, sometimes even with Laurent- though he was often out with Damen.

A week into break Ancel was reading in the library when Berenger came in and set down a giant stack of papers on the coffee table.

“What’s this?” Ancel asked, sitting up.

“Essays,” Berenger said simply. “Now that you’ve finished the semester, you are officially my TA. You should go over these and familiarize yourself with my grading system.”

Ancel snorted and picked up the top essay. “I know your grading system. I was in your class, remember? It was a week ago?”

“And what was the last note you’ve gotten on an assignment?”

“An A,” Ancel said with a grin. “With a tiny heart next to it.”

“There certainly was not a tiny heart next to it.”

“An oversight on your part, no doubt. So I added it myself.” Ancel frowned as he flipped through the essay, covered in notes and corrections in Berenger’s neat script. There was an entire paragraph circled in red where the note just read _“?????”_

“Oh my god,” Ancel muttered. “Did no one teach this sad loser the difference between a possessive noun and a contraction?”

“So you see my point. Please don’t call my students sad losers. Most of them are trying very hard.”

“A medium amount of hard, at best,” Ancel said, picking up another paper. “These are the finals?”

“Yes.”

“What did I get?” Ancel asked, looking up with a grin.

“You know what you got,” Berenger said.

“The grades haven't posted yet.”

“You earned an A, obviously.”

Ancel had known, but it was still good to hear it. “See? You could have just given me an A when I asked.”

Berenger sighed heavily and stared up at the ceiling but Ancel could see a faint blush staining his cheeks. “I’d prefer it if we didn’t talk about the time you offered to trade sexual favors for grades.”

“Don't be silly,” Ancel said, draping his arm over the back of the couch and arching his back a little, twisting his hips so his ass would look good and his calves even better. “It was the auspicious beginning of our relationship. It was practically a meet-cute.”

“Speaking of our _relationship,”_ Berenger said, walking away to pull books off the shelves. He came back to set a giant stack on the coffee table and went back to get more. “I'm teaching four classes next semester. You should familiarize yourself with the material.”

“You're not serious,” Ancel said, staring at the mountain of books before him with dismay. “There’s not enough time in the world to read all these- much less over winter break!”

“It’s not so bad,” Berenger said with a small smile. “I’m teaching two periods of the intro class you took last semester so you’ll already be familiar with the readings for those. The third is an intermediate class about Akielon poetry, and the last is an advanced class on Isagoras.”

 _“Nooo,”_ Ancel moaned, covering his face with his hands. “Isagoras is the most boring poet known to mankind!”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Berenger said, picking out three books from the pile. “Start with these. Have fun.”

After he’d gone, Ancel picked up the first of the three books dubiously, turning it over in his hands. Berenger was punishing him. This whole thing had been an elaborate long con- drawing Ancel in with a free place to stay and fancy breakfasts, the chance to pretty much buy whatever he wanted, being included in family gatherings. It had all been for this moment- Berenger’s ultimate revenge.

Ancel sighed and opened the book- a Veretian translation of some ancient Akielon epic called _Hypenor._ The first five pages were a glossary of important terms and people, a list of places, and an actual _map_ of Ancient Akielos.

“Ughh,” Ancel moaned. Books with glossaries were the worst. It would take _ages_ to get through.

There was nothing for it. Ancel started reading.

Despite a slow beginning and a painfully pedantic description of the flora and fauna of Isthima, _Hypenor_ turned out to be a decently interesting read. It was full of thrilling battle scenes and homoerotic naked wresting matches between the titular hero and his childhood best friend who he totally _wasn’t_ fucking. The actual sex scenes were straight, but with Akielons being so squeamish about sexuality the love scenes were all of the “fade to black” variety so at least Ancel didn’t have to suffer through them.

He ended up finishing in one session and closing the book in a daze, distraught over the way Prince Hyphenor had sacrificed himself for his friend in the end, who became the King of Akilos in his stead. And married his widowed wife. Gross.

The house smelled delicious and there were the sounds of conversation and clinking cutlery drifting in from the kitchen. Was it _dinner time?_ Ancel jerked to his feet and strode over, gaping as he saw the others in the middle of eating.

“You started without me?” Ancel pouted, sitting at the empty chair and not waiting to pile his plate high with roasted vegetables and chicken in some sort of cream sauce. 

“I _tried_ to tell you it was dinner time,” Nicaise said, rolling his eyes. “You just kept saying _five more minutes, five more minutes.”_

“Oh,” Ancel said, blushing as he looked down at his plate.

“Good book?” Berenger asked, a little too knowing.

“Yes,” Ancel said. “Akielons are crazy. They’ll spend three paragraphs describing the glint of a sword in the sunlight and the particular arc that a spray of arterial blood makes, but when it comes to the hero’s wedding night it’s just _they went to bed.”_

“I know,” Laurent said. “Damen is so squeamish about that sort of thing. He wrestles with his best friend- _naked!-_ but whenever I try to bring up sex he just starts _blushing.”_

“To be fair,” Ancel countered, “from what I’ve seen, you do tend to talk to him about it when other people are around. Try getting him alone.”

“That shouldn’t matter,” Laurent said with a frown. “It’s just _sex._ It’s not a big deal.”

“The fact that you’re having sex is disgusting,” Nicaise said. “And we don’t need to hear about it around the dinner table. Right?” He asked the last while looking over at Berenger.

“Sex is a beautiful and natural part of life,” Berenger said, not even looking up from his plate. “It’s healthier to talk about it than treat it like a dirty secret.”

“Ugh,” Nicaise said, turning to Alfonse. “Back me up, Fonz.”

Alfonse simply shrugged and stuffed another piece of chicken in his mouth.

“No one supports me in this house,” Nicaise muttered, stabbing at his own food sullenly.

“Sucks to be you,” Laurent said, elbowing him in the side.

Game night was after dinner and Nicaise went to pick out a board game from the cabinet. “Are you playing, Ancel?”

Ancel looked down to the box in his hands- Monopoly- and snorted. “Are you asking if I want to watch Laurent kick your butt until you get frustrated and flip the board over? No thanks, I’ve seen it before. And I’ve got reading to do.”

Technically he had plenty of time before the next semester started, but he’d liked _Hypenor_ and he hated Monopoly. Ancel found himself looking longingly towards the other books Berenger had left for him. He could read them in his room, of course. But he liked reading in the library, being surrounded by books, the particular elegant atmosphere that let him pretend he was a fancy scholar.

Berenger must have noticed how disgruntled Ancel looked while Laurent and Nicaise set up the game board because he moved closer and pulled a key out of his pocket. This one wasn’t accompanied by a colorful dog tag.

“If you need a private place to study,” Berenger said, “you could use my office.”

Ancel took the key slowly, not sure what this meant. “You keep your office under lock and key? Why? Is it not PG?”

“Not entirely,” Berenger said, smiling as he watched Nicaise argue with Laurent over who got to be the thimble. “It also contains a number of priceless antiques. Please be careful about what you touch.”

“Thanks,” Ancel said, pleased at the show of trust, before taking the key and making the slow climb upstairs.

He’d never been upstairs before- the sacred third floor.

The door to the right was unlocked and he found a dark bedroom. He closed the door almost as soon as he’d opened it, feeling like he’d encroached on Berenger’s privacy. The other door was locked but opened easily enough with the key.

It was about the size of the library. One window faced the front of the house, a cozy-looking couch set up under it with end tables to each side. Berenger’s desk faced the other window, looking out over the back yard. There was a typewriter on it and Ancel couldn’t help a snort as he drifted closer.

There was a perfectly normal silver laptop beside it, so maybe the typewriter was just an expensive decoration. But no- there was a half-finished piece of paper sticking out of it, and a neat stack of pages beside it.

Was Berenger writing a book? On a _typewriter?_

Ancel thumbed through the sheaf of typed pages but they were written in Akielon. Lame.

He left the desk alone and wandered through the room. The walls were lined with shelves that were full of beautiful objects- a gold statuette of a horse rearing up on its hind legs, a jewel encrusted cup, a case containing wicked looking daggers. There was a marble statue about three feet tall of two nude Akielons wrestling. It looked decidedly carnal and Ancel spent probably more time than was proper examining it. There was something captivating about the way the marble was carved, powerful fingers dimpling the flesh of muscled thighs, hair curling in the wind. It was as though the men were on the verge of coming to life.

And then there were the books.

They seemed different to the ones downstairs, their bindings more decadent and ornate. Gold glinted from every shelf, especially the one containing some kind of fancy collector’s edition of the combined works of Isagoras. Ancel trailed his fingers over their spines, shivering at the feeling of cool leather against his skin, fine as butter.

Above them was a locked glass case containing an actual scroll of parchment, carefully unrolled to reveal a single line of handwritten Akielon script. A first edition? It must have been worth a fortune.

And then he came to a curious set of books unlike any of the others. The shelf was in the middle of the wall opposite the wrestling statue, clearly in a place of honor. There were five books, held standing in place by heavy book-ends shaped like roaring lions. Except where all the other books in the room were bound in leather and silk- these were simple hardbound editions with glossy paper dust jackets.

Ancel reached out to take one, trailing his fingers over the cover. It was striking, a black and white stylized compass rose on a flat red background. The title was in Akielon. The author, Jean Vannier, was unfamiliar. Why were these books, clearly recently published, breathing the same air as a first edition _Isagoras?_

Following a hunch Ancel flipped the book over and opened the back cover, grinning when he saw Berenger’s black and white photo staring back at him from the author’s bio section.

“Oh my god,” Ancel whispered to himself, delighted.

He’d looked up Berenger when he’d first gotten him as a professor of course, an attempt at getting material he could use to charm and flatter him. Just in case. Berenger had a few books published under his own name. An academic volume analyzing the floral imagery in the poetry of Isagoras, a primer on Ancient Akielon culture and how it related to their tradition of poetic oral recitations, a few other boring-seeming texts.

But apparently he’d written others, too. In Akielon. Under a pen name.

Ancel carefully put the book back before sprawling out over the couch on his back and pulling out his phone, searching for Jean Vannier. He laughed giddily when he saw there were Veretian translations available, and the books were-

They were _novels._ Even better- they were _romantic novels._

Ancel didn’t think twice before buying the digital versions of all five. Three seemed to be a series, one a standalone novel, and the last a collection of short stories. He started with the short stories, reading them on his phone screen. It was a series of loosely-related vignettes set in Ancient Vere, pre-unification. The characters were pets and courtiers, soldiers and merchants. The stories were vibrant and engrossing, full of intrigue and action and some of them were _raunchy._

Incredibly raunchy.

Ancel was in the middle of a particularly delicious sex scene of a pet fucking his Lord in the royal stables when there was a knock on the door. Ancel startled with a gasp, dropping his phone on his face as Berenger stepped inside.

“Ancel?”

“Yes?” Ancel replied, managing by some miracle not to squeak as he sat up.

Berenger paused and looked at him oddly. Or maybe he was looking at him the way he always looked at him and Ancel was just being paranoid. He fought not to fidget. Was he blushing? Did he look guilty? He kind of wanted to finish the story he’d been reading but it felt weird now, having Berenger look at him, knowing Berenger had _written_ it.

“Did you get much reading done?” Berenger asked.

“I-” Ancel broke off. His face felt hot. “I got distracted,” he said at last. “By your priceless antiques.” He pulled it together enough to grin and shove his phone in his pocket before gathering the books he’d brought with him and standing.

“Are you writing a book?” he asked, glancing over to the desk.

Berenger looked over to the desk too. 

“Yes,” he said. The writing had been in Akielon. That meant it was one of his novels. That meant it could be _porn_ just sitting out there for anyone with a grasp of Akielon to stumble over. Alas, there was no such person in the house. If Berenger was embarrassed he showed no sign of it.

“We were about to watch _Captive Prince,”_ Berenger said. “I thought I’d come see if you wanted to join us.”

“Sure,” Ancel said, offering the key back to him.

“Keep it,” Berenger said. “I have a spare.”

Ancel smiled and followed Berenger out, pausing to lock the door behind them. “You know, it’s kind of pretentious to write on a typewriter.”

Berenger let out a soft huff of laughter as he walked down the stairs. “I’m aware. I prefer it for the first draft- it keeps me from getting bogged down with endless editing. I generally do a full rewrite for following drafts anyway.”

“So, what are you writing?”

“A book.”

“I know it’s a _book,”_ Ancel said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve already said. What is it about?”

“I doubt you’d be interested,” Berenger said lightly.

“I don’t know, I’m interested in lots of things.” Ancel wasn’t sure why he was pushing.

They’d reached the entrance hall by then and Berenger paused and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. And there was that _look_ again, that different look. Suspicion? Or Ancel’s own paranoia? Something else entirely?

“Finally!” Nicaise said in a huff from the library. “Can we start it already? The popcorn’s getting cold.”

“Of course,” Berenger said, taking his customary seat in one of the lounge chairs.

Ancel focused on the TV but the show wasn’t as interesting as usual. His phone felt oddly heavy in his pocket, his mind kept wandering back to the story. When Berenger had interrupted, the pet had been teasing his Lord about how he must want to be taken by a pretty stable boy. The Lord had been flustered but clearly amenable, his pants already unlaced and shoved down past his hips.

Ancel found himself fiddling restlessly with the sofa cushions. That wasn’t the sort of sex scene written by someone who’d only had one boyfriend years ago. 

It was a struggle not to peek at Berenger sitting so close by, composed and unconcerned. It was a struggle not to pull out his phone and read what happened next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read "Berenger's short story" you can! Because it is of course a reference to [Sugar Cubes and Rubies by aldiara](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663549) aka my fave berencel fic ever :)


	13. with a wall around it and everything

* * *

The readings for Berenger’s classes really weren’t that bad- definitely not as boring as Ancel had feared- but the material for the advanced class was more dense than he’d been expecting. He discussed it with Berenger in the early afternoons, sitting together in his office. They went over the syllabi for all the classes and Berenger showed him examples of past assignments. He even had Ancel grade a few for practice. 

“This doesn’t seem like it’ll be a big deal at all,” Ancel said one night at dinner.

Berenger smiled wryly. “I think you’ll find the students complicate things. But I’m glad you’re feeling confident.”

“I think I can handle a few _students,”_ Ancel said with a scoff.

With the midwinter holidays and their trip to Aquitart quickly approaching, Ancel went to the mall with Nicaise to shop for winter things. He picked out wool leggings and socks, a pair of white ski pants that made his ass look amazing, and a smart green jacket with white fur trim around the hood. They went to a sports store for gloves and goggles and Ancel agonized for ages over hats before deciding to go with ear muffs and a scarf instead. 

He was pretty sure skiing was supposed to be sexy. Hat hair wasn’t sexy.

“Can I drive?” Nicaise asked after Berenger, Alfonse, and Ancel had finished loading up the SUV. Laurent wasn’t joining them; he was riding up with Damen.

To Ancel’s surprise Berenger’s expression twisted into something close to dismay.

“...I don’t think we can weather six hours of silence,” he said, moving to close the trunk.

“Lame,” Nicaise muttered. “Shotgun.”

“Okay,” Ancel said with a shrug and got in the back seat with Alfonse, who was already engrossed in some kind of hand-held video game.

Ancel pulled out his own phone while Berenger started the engine and Nicaise fiddled around with the stereo, turning on a classical music station to Ancel’s surprise. He quickly tuned it out, opening a pdf of one of Berenger’s secret books. He’d finished the short stories already and started on the standalone novel.

It was set in Ancient Vere and was about a pet named Savin, who was rescued from a contract with an abusive master by the Lord of Laderhors, Raoul. Ancel was two chapters in and already hooked. He’d just found out that Raoul had only bought Savin because he needed a spy at court, and although it was obvious already the two men wanted each other desperately, Ancel had a feeling they wouldn’t be kissing until at least half way through the book. The anticipation was killing him.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Ancel,” Berenger said.

“What?” Ancel startled, glancing up at the time to see two hours had passed. “Oh,” he blushed. “Um. I’m reading.”

“Anything good?”

“A novel,” Ancel said, glancing back at the text.

Savin and Raoul had already foiled two assassination attempts against the King of Vere and were in the midst of unraveling the conspiracy of a coup. They’d had late night heart-to-hearts and picnics and slept in bed together at an inn while in disguise and they still hadn’t kissed. Raoul was too afraid that Savin didn’t truly want him, and Savin thought he wasn’t good enough to be loved by anyone. Ancel kind of wanted to slap Berenger for the ridiculous drivel he’d written. At this rate Savin and Raoul wouldn’t fuck until the very last chapter.

Which was a shame. Based on the short stories, Berenger wrote pretty steamy sex scenes.

“Lame,” Nicaise said from the front seat. “We’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“I’m not reading for school,” Ancel said. Nicaise turned around so Ancel could see it when he rolled his eyes. Ancel stuck his tongue out in response.

“Nickie, help,” Alfonse said with a frown, holding out his handheld game to Nicaise. “I can’t beat this boss.”

“Sure, Fonz,” Nicaise said, taking the game. “Are you sure you don’t wanna do it yourself?”

Alfonse frowned. “I’ve died like a million times by now and I’ve used up all my potions. I can’t get it. I’m bored.”

“I remember this,” Nicaise said, staring down at the screen. “You have to throw a rock at him to get his force field down and then go stab him while he’s dizzy.”

“Oh,” Alfonse said. “I didn’t try throwing rocks.”

“Do you want another go at it?” Nicaise asked, offering the game back.

“Nickie, _please,”_ Alfonse said with an impressive display of puppy dog eyes.

“What sort of game is this?” Berenger asked. “It sounds violent.”

“Oh please,” Nicaise said, his fingers a blur over the buttons. “There’s not even any blood in it. Chill.”

“Alright,” Berenger said easily. “Consider me properly _chilled._ I’m not sure to what degree, though. Seventy two? Sixty five?"

“Ugh,” Nicaise groaned while Ancel stifled a laugh behind his fist. “You’re so lame.”

“Try again,” Berenger said. “Use an SAT word.”

“You’re so _pedantic,”_ Nicaise said. _“Punctilious. Pernickety.”_

“Very good,” Berenger said. “You’ve been studying. Are you ready for your PSATs next quarter?”

“Ugh,” Nicaise groaned. “We’re on _vacation.”_

Ancel laughed again and tuned the rest of their conversation out, going back to his book instead.

Halfway through the trip they stopped for gas and a bathroom break, and Berenger bought Alfonse and Nicaise an unholy amount of candy. And then they were driving again, with mountains looming ever closer on the horizon.

Ancel had never been so close to the border. When he got tired of reading he looked out the window instead, watching as the terrain changed from open plains to dark forest.

They arrived just as the sun started setting and Ancel peered out in wonder at the stone building before them. It was a _castle._ An honest-to-god _castle,_ with a wall around it and everything.

There was a massive wrought iron gate standing open and Berenger drove through it and up the long winding drive. He parked in front of the main entrance and stepped out, handing off his keys to an elderly man who had come out to greet them.

“Arnoul,” Berenger said with an easy smile. “It’s good to see you’re well.”

“Lord Berenger,” the man that must have been Arnoul said with a low bow.

“Easy,” Berenger said, urging him to stand up with a hand on his upper arm. “No need for all that.”

“As you say, my lord,” Arnoul said. “Master Auguste arrived a few hours ago. Am I to understand Lady Clarisse and Master Laurent won’t be in until tomorrow?”

“I believe so,” Berenger said, turning back to the car. “Boys, let’s get our things and-”

“Please don’t trouble yourself, my lord,” Arnoul interrupted. “I’ll have the servants bring in your luggage. I’ve taken the liberty of preparing your rooms. The typical arrangements. Master Ancel will be in the green suite.”

“Master who?” Ancel asked in shock.

“That will be fine,” Berenger said. “Thank you, Arnoul.”

Arnoul smiled, a thin expression of genuine pleasure. He bowed again, sweeping his arm out in a motion of welcome.

“Oh my god,” Ancel muttered under his breath. It was true. Everything Nicaise had told him was true.

He followed Berenger into the _castle,_ pausing briefly to take in the entrance hall. Everything was made of stone and there were two giant fireplaces to either side of the hall, each big enough for a grown man to stand up in. The floor was covered by ornate rugs, the walls by tapestries.

When Ancel had been a kid, his class had taken a field trip to the royal castle at Marlas. This was roughly the same but smaller, all the more luxurious for the lack of Akielon architectural influences that Marlas suffered from.

Berenger seemed to know exactly where he was going as he led the way up a wide flight of stairs to what turned out to be a residential wing. Nicaise and Alfonse peeled off towards rooms without needing to be told, and then they were at the end of the hall.

“This is me,” Berenger said, pointing to the last door in the hall. “That’s you,” he added, pointing to a door beside it. “Auguste and Laurent will be across the hall. There is a bathroom in your suite, and if you need your laundry done, leave it outside your door. Meals will be about the same- breakfast at seven, dinner at six. If you’re hungry otherwise, the kitchen is staffed at all hours. At least until the holidays, when the staff takes leave. I’ll show you the way tonight if you like.”

“This is insane,” Ancel said numbly. “You realize that this is insane, right?”

Berenger smiled.

“Are you a Lord?” Ancel asked, though the question seemed silly given their surroundings. Given the way Arnoul had addressed Berenger earlier.

“No,” Berenger said. “Not technically. Not since the House of Lords was abolished a century ago. I’m sure Auguste could tell you the exact date down to the hour, but let’s not poke him about it.”

"But that man- Arnoul- he called you-"

"He's a traditionalist," Berenger said with a shrug.

Ancel laughed. “You’re-” he paused, pressing his hands to his eyes to calm down. “...Ridiculous,” he said at last. “You’re really… ridiculous.”

“I’m just a Literature Professor,” Berenger said simply. As if he could ever _just_ be anything. 

“Master Ancel?”

Ancel jumped in surprise and turned. Being addressed as _master_ anything was also ridiculous. There was a young man standing behind him holding his suitcase.

“Uh. Yes?” Ancel asked.

“May I bring your things into your room?”

“Thank you Daniel,” Berenger said with a nod. “Come along, Ancel. It’s nearly time for dinner and we should say hello to Auguste.”

Ancel followed Berenger down the hall and past a cozy looking salon that was like a fancier version of Berenger’s library at home. There was an _actual_ library too, and a room filled with musical instruments. They went down the stairs and Berenger opened the door to a large dining hall and inside-

Auguste was fucking a maid on the dining table. He paused, looking up from where he was standing between her legs, her dark skirts fanned out around the both of them.

“Oh,” Auguste panted while the maid twisted a bit to look over at them too. She seemed incredibly put out at the interruption. “Damn. Is it that time already?”

 _“Gus,”_ Berenger said in disapproval.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Auguste said. “We’re almost finished.”

The maid laughed and Berenger closed the door, standing outside it with his arms crossed over his chest. Ancel couldn’t help a snort as he waited too. A minute passed, another. Berenger tapped his foot. Ancel tried not to laugh.

Eventually the door opened and the maid stepped out, still fixing her uniform back into place.

“Marie,” Berenger said with a nod.

“Berenger,” the woman said, flushed and looking particularly satisfied. She turned her gaze on Ancel, still smiling. “Hello lovely boy.”

“Uh. Hi,” Ancel said.

“I trust that if you have complaints about Auguste’s conduct, you will voice them?” Berenger asked, his voice pinched with disapproval.

Marie laughed and slapped Berenger on the shoulder. “You’ve always been a funny one, darling. You know full well I’ve got no _complaints._ Enjoy your dinner. Don’t worry, we cleaned up after ourselves.”

She sauntered off and Berenger opened the door, walking back into the room. Auguste was sprawled out in a dinner chair, grinning lazily.

“Hey Baba,” he said.

“You’re a disgrace,” Berenger said. “On the dinner table? Really? Alfonse is here.”

“It’s just sex,” Auguste said with a shrug. “Besides, there’s only the five of us tonight. I thought we might take supper in the salon, anyway.”

Berenger still seemed annoyed but some of the indignation faded. At least enough that when Auguste came over to embrace him, Berenger didn't push him away. Neither did he embrace him back.

“Ancel,” Auguste said. “Good to see you again. You’ve been well?”

“Yes,” Ancel said.

“And you’re doing well in your studies?”

“Yes.”  
  
“Very good,” Auguste announced. “Let’s go find the boys, shall we?”

They went back to the fancy salon they’d passed earlier, finding the others already there along with a tray of canapes and a few bottles of wine.

After an enthusiastic round of greetings they settled around a low table and talked about random nonsense as servants periodically came in with trays of food and drink. Everything was fancy and delicious and Ancel found himself growing more giddy as the night went on until he was tipsy and dizzy with it.

This wasn’t real life, it couldn’t be. But somehow, inexplicably, it was.

Berenger took Alfonse to bed at nine, as usual, and when he came back Auguste pulled out a bottle of some foul-smelling Akielon liquor. He poured drinks for Berenger and Ancel and even snuck some to Nicaise, who struggled to hide his grimace at the first sip.

They played cards and talked as the night blurred into warmth and laughter. Before Ancel knew it the hour grew late and he was walking down a dark corridor, leaning heavily against someone’s side. Ancel closed his eyes and leaned in closer, inhaling deeply until the smell of lemons filled him down to his very core. It was Berenger. He was walking with Berenger.

“This is your room,” Berenger said, opening a door and leading Ancel inside. He helped him lie down on satin sheets and sat on the edge of the bed to open the fastenings of Ancel’s knock-off designer boots, setting them carefully down on the ground.

“Mine,” Ancel said in wonder, stretching out over the sheets. The bed was surrounded by ornately carved glossy bed posts and silk curtains, piled high with fancy pillows. The other furniture was no less lovely, each piece embellished with gold and jewels and intricate carvings.

He wondered if Berenger might help him take off the rest of his clothes too, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes as Berenger pulled his socks off for him, tucking them into the boots. Did his touch linger? In Ancel’s addled state he wasn’t sure.

“Help me off with my pants,” Ancel demanded, tilting his chin up in challenge.

Berenger simply smiled, his warm hand resting on Ancel’s knee as though he’d forgotten it there. “I don’t think that would be appropriate,” he said.

Ancel huffed out a sigh of annoyance before getting distracted by how _smooth_ the cool silk of a throw pillow felt under his cheek, nuzzling into it instead.

“Luxury suits you,” Berenger said quietly.

Ancel couldn’t help smiling wider, running his fingers over the pillow with satisfaction. “I think so too,” he said, more pleased than even the cat that had gotten the cream.


	14. what's supposed to be fun about this

* * *

Ancel woke early, as usual. But when he tried to sit up his head swam and he thought better of it, lying back down and throwing his hand over his eyes with a quiet groan. He was coming to realize that Auguste was a terrible influence.

He turned to see there was a glass of water and some aspirin on the nightstand and he gratefully took it before struggling out of his tight jeans and tossing them to the ground beside the bed. He did the same for his shirt, which was now hopelessly wrinkled, before burrowing back under the covers. As the pounding of his headache slowly faded he fell asleep again, waking up around lunch time.

He dressed in a fresh pair of black jeans and a cozy green cashmere sweater before venturing out in search of food. The castle was quiet, but as he passed the sitting room he saw the maid from before- Marie- dusting a shelf of gold statuettes. She must have heard him walking by because she turned to peer at him, her lips quirking up into a smile.

“Hello lovely boy,” she said, coming closer. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I see Gus has gotten to you.”

“It’s that obvious?” Ancel asked with a faint wince. He’d done his hair and make up but he still felt a bit nauseous and shaky after overindulging the previous night.

“You must be hungry,” Marie said, hooking her arm around his elbow and leading him down the corridor and the stairs, and then through a hidden passage and another, narrower, staircase. “You’re not the only late riser this morning, don’t worry. The others are in the kitchen. Arnoul has a trusty hangover recipe, you’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

He could hear familiar voices as they approached an open set of double doors, and then Ancel stepped inside to see a large kitchen. It had clearly been retrofitted with modern appliances but there were at least three ancient stone ovens that he could see and wooden racks to hang herbs from. It was an odd combination of new and old.

In the center of it all was a kitchen island like the kind in Berenger’s house, but this one was significantly larger, the counter made of hewn stone rather than marble.

Clarisse had arrived and was sitting next to Alfonse, who was explaining something with great enthusiasm. Laurent was sitting between Damen and Auguste, who seemed to be getting along quite well, to Laurent’s annoyance. Nicaise was nowhere to be seen, probably completely conked out after last night. And finally there was Berenger, talking to Arnoul.

Ancel moved to sit beside him and Arnoul looked over at him mid sentence.

“Ah,” he said. “Master Ancel. Hair of the dog?”

“What?” Ancel asked, blinking slowly. 

There was food on the counter but none of it seemed particularly appetizing at the moment. Although he suddenly had a craving for Berenger’s cooking- creamy scrambled eggs on toast with a side of roasted tomatoes and garlic all sprinkled with chives. Maybe some hash browns too, warm and crispy. He’d probably cook for Ancel if he asked him to. He probably wouldn’t think twice. But it was silly, and too much, so Ancel didn’t ask.

“How are you feeling?” Berenger asked.

Ancel flushed and looked down. His memories of the previous night were hazy but he distinctly remembered asking Berenger to help him take off his pants. 

“Like dog poo,” he said, mindful of Alfonse sitting only a few feet away.

“This will help,” Arnoul said, returning with an incomprehensible collection of objects.

Ancel watched in horror as the elderly man cracked a raw egg into a glass, followed by hot sauce and a generous dollop of whiskey. Arnoul mixed the brew with a small whisk and slid it over.

“It does help,” Berenger said with a wry smile. There was something suspicious about it. Ancel wasn’t sure if he was being serious or just messing with him.

“You’re not serious,” Ancel said, staring down at the foamy mixture.

“Ancient family recipe,” Auguste said easily. “It works, I swear.”

“I’m not trusting _you,”_ Ancel said, looking over at Clarisse instead. She raised her eyebrow and shrugged a little, which was all the encouragement Ancel needed.

He chugged the drink. It wasn’t even that bad, really. Just odd and… _thick._ He waited for a little while, listening as the others talked around the table, but then the nausea started to fade and he reached out to grab a piece of toast, slathering it with butter and jam before taking a bite. Afterwards he could stomach some coffee and bacon, a soft boiled egg and half a croissant.

“Let’s get you into your snow suit before it’s too late to go out onto the slopes,” Clarisse said to Alfonse. Berenger stood to help Alfonse down from his stool, following as the boy dragged him excitedly away.

“Anyone else care to join us?” Clarisse continued.

“Yes,” Laurent said, standing too and taking Damen’s hand.

“Anyone else?” Clarisse asked, sweeping her cool predator-sharp gaze over the room. “Auguste?”

Auguste seemed oddly distracted and when Ancel followed his gaze he saw Marie leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised. 

“I believe I have other plans for today,” Auguste said with a smile, “but I’ll join you tomorrow.”

To Ancel’s great relief, no one seemed to expect him to do anything or go anywhere so he returned to his suite alone and rummaged around in his suitcase for the books he still had to read for Berenger’s classes. There were only a few left; he could easily finish them by the end of break.

He opened the door just as Alfonse ran past in bright pink waterproof ski pants and a white turtle-neck sweater, Clarisse following after him in her own red snow suit, a small pink jacket draped over her arm. She nodded at Ancel and he couldn’t help smiling at the pure joy in Alfonse’s piping voice fading down the hall.

Ancel took a more sedate pace back to the sitting room, probably his favorite room of the castle he’d seen so far. There was a fire roaring in the hearth and to his surprise- Berenger was sitting on one of the couches, reading.

“You didn’t go skiing?” Ancel asked, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. 

“No,” Berenger said. “There’s still some reading I need to do. I thought a quiet afternoon would be the perfect time to do it.”

“Ah,” Ancel said and managed a smile as he held up his own book. “Me too.” That, and he felt _off_ still, though the nausea had settled into a strange heaviness in his limbs that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Still, he had no desire to learn a new sport at the moment.

He opened the book and tried to read, but the words seemed to swim over the page and he found himself reading the same sentence over and over again no matter how hard he tried. Maybe he wasn’t as recovered from his hangover as he’d thought.

“Ugh,” he said nearly half an hour later. What he wanted most of all was a nap, probably. But it was nice in the sitting room, warm and cozy, and he didn’t want to go back to his room. Before he could think too hard about it, he grabbed a throw pillow and tossed it on the couch next to Berenger’s thigh before flopping down on his back, covering his face with the still open book.

Berenger laughed quietly in a way that seemed friendly rather than mean-spirited. “As a rule, you probably shouldn’t accept drinks from Auguste.”

“You tell me _now,”_ Ancel complained before the book was gently lifted off his face.

“This is for the advanced class?” Berenger asked, stroking the pages reverently. _“The Conquest of Arsaces._ This is the foremost romantic text of Isagoras’ entire oeuvre.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Ancel said, throwing his arm over his eyes to block out the light. “The words keep dancing around on the pages.”

“I have four weeks dedicated to this text in the curriculum,” Berenger said. _“The Conquest of Arsaces_ marks a monumental shift in Akielon literature, creating the groundwork for poetry as we understand it today.”

“If it’s so important, read it to me.” Ancel wasn’t quite sure where the courage came from, but his heart sped up in anticipation.

“It’s so much more beautiful in the original Akielon,” Berenger said. If Ancel had been looking, he was sure he would have seen Berenger caressing the pages.

 _“Eínai sígoura theoí pou tou miloún me statherés fonés,”_ Berenger murmured, softly, like he was talking to a lover.

Ancel looked up and poked him in the side.

Berenger laughed and repeated himself in Veretian. _“They are surely gods who speak to him with steady voices. A glance from him drives men to their knees. His sigh brings cities to ruin. I wonder if he dreams of surrender on a bed of white flowers. Or is that the mistaken hope of every would-be conqueror? The world was not made for beauty like his.”_

Berenger paused, staring down at the book in his hands, “It’s about true love. Complete abandonment. Surrender and destruction.”

He frowned at the page thoughtfully and Ancel wanted to reach up and smooth it away. “Love doesn’t have to be so serious,” he said.

“It’s the most serious thing in the world,” Berenger answered simply. “The most beautiful and the most dangerous.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Ancel asked.

“I thought I was, once,” Berenger said wistfully, his gaze far away. And then his expression cleared and he smiled, finally meeting Ancel’s eyes. “But then Auguste turned out to be an incorrigible cad.”

Ancel couldn’t help but laugh. _“Auguste?_ Really?”

“A childish fancy,” Berenger said, waving vaguely as though brushing off a speck of dust.

Ancel wondered about the boyfriend Laurent claimed he had, who’d cheated and broken his heart. But he wasn’t supposed to know about that, so he didn’t mention it.

“Have you ever been in love?” Berenger asked.

Ancel grimaced and turned to lie on his side, staring at the fire. “Love was a luxury I could never afford,” he said, thinking of his long string of boyfriends. He’d never loved any of them, just used them for a place to sleep, a free meal, a wallet, a kind word once in a while. “I’m more familiar with the currency of fucking. But it’s nice to read about love anyway,” he continued, forcing a light tone so Berenger wouldn’t get all awkward about it. “You should keep going.”

He closed his eyes, waiting. He hoped Berenger wasn’t about to say anything stupid or painfully sentimental. It seemed like he might, for a moment, and then he turned the page and continued reading.

Ancel paid more attention to the warm cadence of his voice than to his words, and eventually Nicaise wandered in, yawning and still in his pajamas, his curls a mess around his face. He curled up on the other couch playing some handheld game, clearly too hungover to complain about Berenger’s reading being boring.

Eventually the others returned with wind-swept hair and flushed cheeks, grinning with excitement.

“Uncle Berry!” Alfonse cried out as Ancel sat up in a hurry, smoothing his hair back as he pretended he hadn’t spent the past hour napping against Berenger’s thigh.

“You’re still alive,” Berenger said, helping Alfonse climb up into his lap. “That’s excellent news.”

“We went on the black diamond,” Alfonse said with a grin. “I fell!”

“Oh dear,” Berenger said.

“I lost my skis and had to walk down the whole mountain-”

“Not the _whole_ mountain,” Clarisse interjected. “Come along now, sweetheart. Let’s get ready for dinner.”

Berenger stood, still holding Alfonse, and Clarisse followed them back to the boy’s room while Damen and Laurent seemed to retread a familiar argument about skis versus snowboards.

“It’s unnatural,” Laurent muttered, walking down the corridor as Damen followed. “Going- _sideways_ like that. People are supposed to move forwards. We’re not _crabs.”_

Damen laughed, his response too quiet to hear.

“Ugh,” Nicaise muttered. “They’re so _loud.”_

* * *

In the morning Ancel resolved himself to being dragged along skiing.

Berenger paid for passes and rentals for him and Nicaise- who was apparently a snowboarder to Laurent’s great disgust- and then they headed out into the snow. Berenger showed Ancel how to clip his boots into the skis, how to push himself along in a shuffling sort of walk as he led Ancel and Nicaise to the bunny slope.

Clarisse took Alfonse up the mountain straight away along with Laurent and Damen, but Auguste tagged along for a while, as it turned out mostly to make fun of Nicaise every time he fell, which was frequently.

Ancel made a better showing of it, trying to follow along as Berenger explained how to turn and stop, how to go down a hill without picking up too much speed.

The first time down the bunny hill Ancel fell three times and had to try and push down the embarrassment of needing Berenger’s help standing back up. By the fifth time he was managing not to fall even once, though he felt every muscle in his body tensing as he fought to control his slide down the hill.

Nicaise, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be improving at all, which meant Auguste heckled him mercilessly about switching to skis instead.

“Fuck off, old man,” Nicaise said finally. “Don’t you two have a black diamond waiting for you? Your necks won’t break themselves.”

“You wound me,” Auguste said dramatically, bringing his hand to his heart.

“Go away,” Nicaise said, glaring at him and Berenger both. “We’ve got it from here.”

“Are you sure?” Berenger asked, looking at Ancel.

“Yeah,” Ancel said with a smile. He couldn’t bear to have Berenger continue to watch him humiliate himself. “Nicaise and I will keep each other company. You two should go off and have fun.”

“If you’re sure,” Berenger said uncertainly.

“Go awayyyy!” Nicaise said, rolling his eyes.

The two of them left and Ancel glanced back up at the bunny hill nervously. “I don’t understand what’s supposed to be fun about this,” he muttered quietly to Nicaise.

“Nothing,” Nicaise said. “The bunny hill is lame. We’re not babies. Come on- let’s go down a _real_ trail.”

“I’m going to die,” Ancel moaned as he followed Nicaise towards one of the intimidating-looking ski lifts.

“Don’t be a wimp,” Nicaise said, leading the way. “We’ll do an easy one.”

They got in line. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very long. Ancel eyed the giant spinning machinery of the benches coming around and around on their metal cables with trepidation. He watched as the other people got on. It wasn’t that difficult. He could do it. Probably.

And then it was their turn and Ancel followed Nicaise over to the platform, twisting around to see the bench coming up behind them.

The attendant must have noticed Ancel’s trepidation because she smiled reassuringly. “Here it comes,” she said, reaching out to slow the bench a little. “Ready… now!”

The bench hit the backs of Ancel’s knees and he sat a little too hard, gripping the edge and back of the bench desperately, and then they were in the air and it was _awful._

“Watch out,” Nicaise said, lowering the safety bar over them.

“This is the worst,” Ancel said miserably, staring down at the mountain passing beneath them. They were so high up. Probably not high enough to die if they fell, but definitely high enough to break- _everything._

“It’s fine,” Nicaise said, leaning back and fumbling with his gloves. He took a vape pen out of his pocket and took a deep drag, sighing as he leaned back and exhaled a huge puff of smoke.

“What’s that?” Ancel asked, eyeing him warily.

“Chalis,” Nicaise said. “Want some?”

“Hell no,” Ancel said. The idea of being _high_ while going down a giant snowy mountain made him break out in a cold sweat. “And you shouldn’t be smoking that either.”

“It’s fine,” Nicaise said, waving him away.

For a while they rode the lift in silence, the mountain air whistling past their ears. Once Ancel got over the initial terror he could admit that it was kind of pretty up here. The view was certainly breathtaking. There was a dangerously steep track to the right of them, and he thought he saw a small pink shape whiz by, followed by the distinctive red of Clarisse’s snowsuit and then black, blue, blue, red in quick succession. Berenger, Auguste, Laurent, Damen.

“They’re crazy,” Ancel muttered.

And then everything got a little more terrifying when they approached the lift station at the top and Nicaise raised the safety bar.

“Oh my god,” Ancel whimpered.

“It’s fine,” Nicaise said. “It’s not a big deal at all, just raise your ski tips up and-”

The ground was approaching quickly.

“Get ready to stand-” Nicaise warned.

And then Ancel’s skis were on the ground and he forced himself to stand, the bench pushing him forwards, and he was sliding down the small hill towards a flat-ish area facing a map of the mountain.

“See?” Nicaise said, sliding next to him. “No big deal. We’re going this way.”

Ancel had no choice but to follow as Nicaise turned left. He was pretty sure he was about to die.

But Nicaise took them down a gently sloping path that wasn’t much worse than the bunny hill. The track was wide and uncrowded, broken up by even areas that made it easy to slow down. And to top it all off- Nicaise _sucked._ He kept falling, so they didn’t go very fast as Ancel waited for him to right himself and catch up. And there were a few times, here and there, where it did feel a little exhilarating to be sliding down the snowy peak.

It must have taken half an hour to go down all the way, and by the end of it Ancel’s muscles were aching from the cold and the constant tension.

“Let’s go again,” Nicaise said, pink-cheeked and grinning.

“Okay,” Ancel said despite his misgivings.

The lift was less scary the second time, and they made it down the mountain faster. Despite the fact that Ancel could tell he was getting better at this, he still had a hard time figuring out what was supposed to be fun about it.

“Again?” Nicaise asked once they’d reached the bottom.

“No,” Ancel said firmly, ignoring the shiver of guilt. Berenger had paid a lot of money for Ancel to do this. He’d spent so much time trying to teach him. But Ancel felt simultaneously cold and overheated, damp with nervous sweat. Everything hurt and he was pretty sure that at any moment he’d lose control and break his neck.

“Boo,” Nicaise pouted, sticking his tongue out. “Have it your way. But I’m going up on my own.”

“You’ll be okay?” Ancel asked, feeling a different pang of guilt. What if Nicaise got hurt and he wasn’t there? But he’d seen employees in bright red jackets on the mountains, patrolling for people who’d been injured. Even if something bad happened, Nicaise wouldn’t be on his own.

“Duh,” Nicaise said. “Go rest your bones by the fire. I always said you were old.”

“If you’re sure,” Ancel said.

“Fuck off!” Nicaise said cheerfully, going towards the lift on his own. There was a pretty teenage girl in a bright yellow jacket waiting by herself in line and Nicaise slid up to her. He said something Ancel couldn’t hear and she laughed easily. She said something back. Nicaise grinned, halfway to smitten already.

“Okay then,” Ancel said to himself, and made his way back to the lodge.

He returned his equipment to the rental office and put his own boots back on before going up to the lodge and ordering a hot spiced cider. There was a fireplace surrounded by cozy chairs and he made himself comfortable, pulling out his phone while sipping on the cider.

Eventually he grew warm enough to take off his jacket and sweater and snow pants until he was sitting curled up in just his leggings and tank top. This was much nicer than trying not to die on a snowy mountain.

“Ancel?”

Ancel jerked up, nearly spilling his hot cider in his lap. “Uh,” he said to Berenger, still decked out in his snow clothes as he stood before him.

“Are you alright?”

Ancel winced, awkwardly tucking a messy lock of hair behind his ear. He felt like an ungrateful little shit, taking everything Berenger had offered him and throwing it away. Wasting his money like that. But Berenger didn’t look angry at all, just concerned. And Ancel knew better by now anyway. Berenger wouldn’t be angry if he told him the truth.

“I don’t think skiing is my thing,” he admitted. “I- I returned the equipment. I’m sorry. I tried to like it but it was just… too scary.”

“Oh,” Berenger said. “I’m sorry. Would you like a ride back?”

“Oh,” Ancel said, smiling now. “No, I’m pretty comfortable here. You should go back out and have fun.”

“You’re sure?” Berenger asked with a faint frown. “It’s really no trouble. I could call Arnoul.”

“I’m sure,” Ancel said, waving him away. “I’d be doing the same thing back at Aquitart anyway. It’s fine, really.”

“Alright,” Berenger said at last. “Do you want the credit card? In case you’d like to get another cider, or some lunch.”

“I have my own money, you know,” Ancel said, charmed all over again.

“You don’t have to spend it.”

“I know,” Ancel laughed. “I’m fine, really. Go away. Aren’t you the one watching Auguste?”

“You’re right,” Berenger said with a put upon wince. “He could have gotten into all sorts of mischief by now. You’ll be here? I’ll find you when we’re leaving.”

“Sure,” Ancel said. “Have fun.” He gave Berenger a jaunty wave and watched him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for my shitty google-translated greek -_-;


	15. semi-precious minerals

* * *

Ancel didn’t bother going back on the slopes the following day, or the day after that. He had a nice enough time on his own in the castle, reading or studying or talking to Marie, who had a lot of embarrassing stories to share about Auguste.

And then, on the third day, he was awakened by his door being pushed open and tiny footsteps pattering towards him before Alfonse jumped on the bed.

“Ancel!” Alfonse cried out, flopping down on top of him.

Ancel managed to contain a flinch, but only just. He glanced over at the clock- _six thirty am._

“Alfonse?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing _wrong!”_ Alfonse said with a wide grin. “It’s time for presents!”

“Oh,” Ancel said. That was right. _Presents._ Holidays, especially winter holidays, meant presents. But he hadn’t gotten anyone any presents, and no one had gotten any presents for him. The thought of everyone opening their gifts while Ancel had none to give or receive was painful and he swallowed, hard.

“I think I’ll just go back to sleep, honey,” he said quietly. “I’m really tired.”

“Nooo,” Alfonse said in a tone close to a whine. “You have to come. Everyone will be there- we can’t do presents without you!”

Ancel looked up at him, at the pure excitement in his eyes, and couldn’t say no. He’d have to forge through it somehow. He slapped a smile on his face and sat up. “Alright,” he said at last. “But you have to give me a chance to put something on, okay?”

“Okay!” Alfonse said with a grin, leaving the room as quickly as he’d entered it.

Ancel got out of bed with a wince, grabbing a silk robe to cover the tiny satin shorts and tank top he usually slept in. He put on his slippers and shuffled towards the excited voices, trying not to look too tired and miserable as he settled on a couch in the salon.

“This one’s for Nicaise,” Auguste said, shoving a huge package towards Nicaise, who ripped into it with gusto. It was an electric guitar and Ancel didn’t miss the sour look Berenger shot at Auguste. Ancel hid his grin behind his hand. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Alfonse got a stuffed bunny at least as big as he was and Laurent got a new sword like that wasn’t weird at all. There were more presents for everyone else including, inexplicably, a riding crop from Laurent to Damen, and a gold cuff from Damen to Laurent. Finally there was only one large package left under the evergreen wreath hanging above the fire.

“What’s this?” Auguste asked performatively, making a show of reading the card. “It’s for Ancel?”

“What?” Ancel managed, sitting up straighter.

Auguste slid the package towards him and Ancel moved off the couch to kneel on the rug, not quite believing his eyes as he stared at the cheerful gift wrap. He looked at the tag. It was for him, from “Santa.” He ripped into the paper, laughing when he found a stack of elegantly bound books- his course work for Berenger’s classes next semester.

“You got me books?” Ancel asked, looking over at Berenger.

“Certainly not,” Berenger said with a small smile. “If you read the tag, you’ll see that it’s clearly from Santa.”

Ancel laughed again, the sound coming out breathy and uncertain.

 _“This_ is from us,” Auguste said, handing over another, much smaller, gift wrapped package.

“What?” Ancel asked faintly, taking it. His eyes felt oddly wet.

He managed to open it with shaking fingers, completely overcome. The gift wrapping hid a black velvet box, and when he opened it he found a beautiful emerald necklace with earrings to match. His heart skipped a beat. “What…”

“From all of us,” Berenger said. “Happy birthday.”

“What?” Ancel looked up, tears spilling unbidden down his cheeks. He wiped them away hastily as he fought not to sniffle. The last time he’d gotten a birthday gift was when he was six. No one even knew when his birthday _was_ now. “How did you even-”

“I told you I looked up your transcript,” Berenger said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I can’t accept this,” Ancel tried, staring back down at the glittering jewels. They were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. The thought that they could be _his-_ it was too much. “I can’t- I couldn't possibly-”

“Oh my god,” Nicaise said, rolling his eyes. “If I knew you were going to be such a drama queen about it I would have told them to get you socks instead.”

Ancel laughed in surprise, wet and hiccuping. “You?” he asked looking up. “This was your idea?”

“Well you were practically drooling over those earrings back at the mall,” Nicaise muttered, not meeting his eyes. “And peridots are just semi-precious minerals. I thought you’d like real jewels. Stop _crying_ already.”

“I’m not,” Ancel said, wiping his tears away. “I’m not crying. But this is- this is too much. I can’t-”

“Don’t be silly,” Auguste said.

“Grand Mama would have wanted them worn,” Clarisse said, “not languishing away in the family vault.”

“She was quite a character,” Berenger said mildly. “A commoner when she seduced Grand Papa and subsequently poisoned him. She would have loved you.”

Ancel couldn’t help a small laugh, the enormity of the gift still too much to entirely wrap his mind around.

“Well?” Clarisse said. “Put them on. Let us see.”

“Okay,” Ancel said with a smile. He didn’t need a mirror to put on the earrings, threading them carefully through his ears one at a time. But the necklace had a delicate latch and he found himself looking over at Berenger, holding the case out towards him. “Could you?” he asked meekly.

Berenger took the case and Ancel turned his back to him, lifting his hair. He tried not to shiver as Berenger moved closer to drape the necklace around his neck and fasten it with careful fingers, brushing against the delicate skin at the nape of his neck with every move.

Finally he finished and moved back and Ancel let his hair drop in favor of stroking the emeralds resting against his skin. 

“Do you like them?” Berenger asked quietly.

“I-” Ancel tried, and couldn’t force the words out. He _loved_ them, obviously. But this was- so much. “I just-”

“Hush,” Clarisse said, not unkindly. “If you think we’d let your birthday pass unmarked, you’re mad.”

“They’re pretty,” Alfonse said with a smile, moving forward to take Ancel’s face in his tiny hands. “You look so pretty.”

“Thank you,” Ancel managed before Auguste came over and slapped him heartily on the back. 

Ancel laughed and it came out hideous, hiccuping and too real, full of joy that he had no way of containing. Alfonse hugged him while Nicaise made a sound of vague disgust, probably too cool for hugs. Laurent and Damen were already engrossed in some disgustingly flirty conversation while Clarrisse muttered something about breakfast.

Ancel startled when someone took his hand, squeezing hard, and looked over to see Berenger looking a bit concerned. Ancel smiled as he squeezed back.

* * *

Ancel didn’t take off the jewels. They felt like a dream he couldn’t bear to wake up from.

In the absence of staff, sent home for the holidays, Berenger made one of his typical lavish breakfasts. Everyone drifted away a bit afterwards, for naps or other entertainment, and in the evening they had a big dinner to celebrate the season. 

They drank eggnog and mulled wine until everyone wandered off to their own rooms.

Ancel stayed in the sitting room, thinking he’d give himself one more gift for the holidays and for his birthday. Now that he had the whole fancy room to himself, he wanted to finish Berenger’s book.

He was only a few chapters off from the end. To his great surprise, Lord Raoul took a wife- a shrew of a woman who seemed intent on breaking him and Savin up. And then Raoul caught sick and- and _died._

Ancel continued to read in disbelief as Raoul’s wife took Savin to see his grave, where Savin fell to his knees and sobbed in despair- right up until he was taken away by Vaskian brutes that the wife had arranged to sell him to.

For the second time that day, Ancel found himself crying. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe this was just too much. He felt awful and he couldn’t stop, sniffling pitifully as he imagined Savin’s fate at the hands of the brutal Vaskians, mourning his lost love…

This couldn’t be the end- but it was. The book was over.

He was still crying quietly when Berenger walked past the room in his pajamas and dressing gown.

He was the last person Ancel wanted to see at the moment, because he was a monster.

“Ancel,” Berenger said quizzically, pausing in the doorway. “It’s late. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Ancel didn’t think he could speak without sobbing so he just shook his head, screwing his eyes shut against the tears that were still falling. Something about it must have tipped Berenger off anyway because he walked towards him.

“Ancel?” he asked in alarm, stopping in front of him. “What’s the matter?”

Ancel glared up at him through his tears, distraught and so, so angry. “You!” he gritted out, pointing at Berenger accusingly with his phone. “You’re what’s the matter! How could you!”

Berenger seemed taken aback and Ancel only cried harder, turning away to hide his face in a pillow. “You killed Raoul,” he wept. “You killed Raoul, and now Savin is- he’s-”

 _“Oh,”_ Berenger breathed out, sitting beside him on the couch.

“I’ll never read any of your books again,” Ancel mumbled. “I’ll- I’ll demand a refund for the ones I bought and I’ll leave you terrible reviews online. You’re a horrible man.”

“Oh,” Berenger said, and had the nerve to _chuckle._

“What’s the _matter_ with you?” Ancel demanded, raising his face from the pillow just enough to glare at him. “You ruined Savin’s life and you’re going to _laugh_ about it?”

“It’s-” Berenger paused, licking his lips. “It’s- that book is the first of a trilogy. It’s not over.”

“...No?” Ancel asked uncertainly.

“Oh dear,” Berenger said. “No. It’s based on historic events. Embellished quite a bit, I’ll admit. Raoul isn’t dead. It was all a ruse- his wife the Lady Dominique only wanted to get rid of Savin.”

“But- but she showed him Raoul’s gravestone,” Ancel said in a tiny voice.

“That was his father’s gravestone,” Berenger said. “Lord Raoul the second. Lord Raoul the third is well and good, as soon as he recovers from his mild case of poisoning. They’ll reunite soon enough.”

“You’re a bastard,” Ancel whispered. He already felt a lot better.

“The official Veretian translation hasn’t been released yet,” Berenger said with a faint smile. “But it’s awful anyway. There’s a fan-made version that’s much better. My agent doesn’t like me talking about that though.”

“Oh,” Ancel said, looking down and fiddling with his phone. He felt a bit silly now at his own dramatics.

“How did you even find those books?” Berenger asked with a faint smile. 

“Online, obviously,” Ancel said.

“No, I meant- how did you know I wrote them? I use a pen name, and the digital ones don’t have my picture in them.”

Ancel looked up to squint at him in disbelief. “Any idiot who spends two minutes in your study can figure it out.”

“And yet you’re the only one who has,” Berenger said. Against all odds, he seemed pleased.

“Why do you write in Akielon, anyway?”

“It’s a beautiful language,” Berenger said simply. “And for all their claims to prudery, there certainly is a vast market for explicit tales of Veretian intrigue. And I didn’t want Clarisse to make fun of me.”

Ancel laughed at the last one.

“You’re not going to tell her, are you?” Berenger asked. “I’ll never live it down.”

“No, I’m going to use the threat of telling her to blackmail you into writing only happy endings.”

“Well,” Berenger said with a wry smile. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

“Please tell me that Savin and Raoul finally have sex in the second book.”

“That would be spoilers,” Berenger said, patting Ancel on the shoulder and standing once more.

“Come on,” Ancel tried with his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. “Don’t be such a troll. Just tell me.”

“Spoilers,” Berenger said with another infuriating chuckle and turned to go.

* * *


	16. this is an ambush

* * *

The start of the semester felt strange after the time spent in Aquitart, but it was easy enough to fall into the same comfortable routine.

On the first day of classes Berenger made breakfast with avocado toast and cinnamon oatmeal and eggs done three ways (poached, soft boiled, and scrambled). When it was time to leave he looked at Ancel expectantly and Ancel couldn’t help flushing a little, holding his bag close as he followed Berenger out to his car.

“You remember what we talked about,” Berenger said.

“Yes,” Ancel said. He wasn’t worried, exactly, so much as he was restless. “I’ll observe for the first week and we’ll take it from there.”

“Very good,” Berenger said. “I won’t need you to stay for office hours for the first week, so you’re free to leave after class. Let me know later if you have any questions.”

“Sure,” Ancel said. He didn’t think he’d have any questions. He was as prepared as he could be, anyway. It’s not like being a TA was going to be _hard._

Once they walked into the familiar classroom Ancel found his way to the back, settling in a seat as far away from Berenger as possible, waiting for the students to slowly shuffle in.

Berenger’s first intro class was at eight, as always, and the first student didn’t arrive until 7:59. Berenger waited a few minutes past eight for any stragglers before beginning his introductory spiel, including introducing Ancel as his teaching assistant.

Ancel waved at that, only to frown later as he noted that the latest student arrived a full eighteen minutes after the beginning of class. He could see already where three students had fallen asleep as Berenger explained the syllabus. A prickle of annoyance had him crossing his arms over his chest. Berenger was an excellent teacher, and sleeping through the _first class_ was so rude he could hardly handle it.

He couldn’t help flushing at the thought. He’d been one of those assholes just last semester. Had he been this annoying too? But at least he’d been working night shifts full time, and these pampered boys and girls didn’t have any excuse.

The first intro class ended at 8:50, the second began at 9:00. As the new students filtered in Ancel got an unpleasant jolt as he recognized-

Govart.

The gorilla noticed Ancel looking and grinned in a way that was truly disconcerting. Ancel sat up a little straighter, staring back. Surely he wasn’t still angry about the silly little grabbing him by the balls incident on Halloween? 

Apparently so.

Govart sat near the back and kept throwing _looks_ at him that Ancel studiously ignored. The second period went by even slower than the first, though at least there were less students taking naps.

Once it was over and everyone had gone, Ancel made his way down to the front of the room and perched casually on the edge of Berenger’s desk.

“Easy-peasy,” he said with a smirk.

“These were just the first classes,” Berenger said with a faint smile. “But I’m glad you’re feeling confident. Do you have other classes today?”

“In a few hours,” Ancel said. “Do you want me to stay? Help with anything?”

“There’s not anything to help with, yet,” Berenger said. “It’s not as though I’ve assigned any homework besides the reading.”

“Alright,” Ancel said, standing up. “See you at home, then.”

Berenger waved at him before starting to gather his teaching materials so Ancel left the classroom and headed outside the building.

As soon as he opened the door he got a nasty shock- Govart, waiting for him.

“Well, well,” Govart said with an ugly smile. _“Ancel.”_

“Govart, was it?” Ancel asked lightly. “What a coincidence.”

“A lucky one, for me,” Govart said. “You’re the TA for this class? That means you grade the work, doesn’t it. I think you’ll be giving me straight A’s all semester.”

“I think,” Ancel said, lowering his voice as he glared, “that you’ll have to earn your grades like everyone else.”

“Nah,” Govart said, leaning closer as Ancel refused to give up even an inch of ground. “You’ll give me A’s. Or else.”

“Or else _what.”_

Govart leaned back, affecting a nonchalant manner as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “I’ve seen you at the club, you know. I’m sure you don’t want everyone knowing what you are- a stripper and a _whore.”_

“Try it and see what happens,” Ancel hissed, shoving past him. Govart didn’t follow, thankfully, as Ancel headed towards the closest campus coffee shop, still scowling.

He had two hours until his next class and he ordered a latte before finding a table and pulling out his phone, scrolling through it idly as he waited. He felt angry and unsettled, which was why he jumped when he heard-

“Mr. Sanpelier.”

He looked up to see a tall severe woman standing before his table. She pulled out a chair without asking and sat down, watching him with her piercing cold gaze.

“Professor Vannes,” he said, plastering a smile over his face.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Mr. Sanpelier.”

“Have I?” he asked, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Surely not. Did we have a meeting scheduled?”

“Two, in fact,” she said. “Last semester.”

“Right,” Ancel said with a wince. “It must have slipped my mind.”

“I’ve sent you a dozen emails,” Vannes continued, unfazed. “So I doubt it. I’m your academic advisor, Mr. Sanpelier. You can’t just ignore me.”

“Oh, well,” Ancel said. “I think I’ve got things under control.”

“I don’t think you do,” Vannes said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you. You still need four classes for your finance degree, and you’ve registered for only one of them. Instead you’ve signed up for two sociology courses and one _education_ course.”

She pulled a sheaf of papers out of her bag, slapping them on the table.

“So this is an ambush,” Ancel muttered, staring as she started flipping through pages.

“Of course it is,” she said. “I know you’re Berenger’s TA and that your next class isn’t until noon. Where else would you be? Now, don’t try to distract me.”

Ancel took a long sip of his latte, looking past her rather than at her.

“I thought you wanted to graduate by the end of next semester,” Vannes said flatly. “And now you’re screwing up your whole course plan. What are you doing?”

“I…” Ancel fiddled with his cup, trying not to flush. He’d been going for a finance degree despite his lackluster feelings towards it because he’d wanted something solid and stable. Something he could definitely make a career out of without having to struggle too hard. But it had never been his dream. He’d never really had a dream at all.

But living with Berenger, with Alfonse and Nicaise and Laurent, had made him think maybe there were other options open to him. Ones that would mean… more.

“Spit it out, Mr. Sanpelier,” Vannes said impatiently.

“I thought I’d double major,” Ancel said, staring down at the table. “In finance and… social work. Maybe I could… I don’t know. Work with kids. Help people.”

To his surprise, Vannes laughed. He looked up in confusion to see that she was looking at him with something almost fond in her eyes.

“I see Alfonse has gotten to you.”

“W-what?” Ancel sputtered.

“Tch,” Vannes scoffed dismissively. “I’m well aware of your living arrangements. Berenger and I are good friends, as a matter of fact. But this is all for the best. I’ve always thought you were particularly ill suited for _finance.”_

Ancel stared in disbelief as she pulled out a fresh stack of papers, sifting through them with single minded purpose.

“It’s not impossible,” she said, “though you are behind. You’d really be better off dropping the finance major to a minor… but even then the practical hours would take some doing. But if you-” She grinned, looking up. “You could be an RA next year. It would really give you a taste of what you’re going for, and it means room and board and some pay. It’s the best solution, really. I could give you my recommendation.”

Ancel couldn’t help floundering, his mouth dropping open in shock before he remembered to close it. _“Me?_ An _RA?”_

“For incoming freshmen,” Vannes said with a dangerous glint in her eyes and a smirk over her lips. 

“I-” Ancel tried.

“Think about it,” Vannes interrupted. “It will certainly come at the cost of five star meals and a cleaning service, but it’s the fastest way to fulfill the degree requirements.”

“I don’t-”

“This has been a fruitful meeting, Mr. Sanpelier,” Vannes said, gathering her papers and standing. “Do try not to miss my emails again.”

* * *

Ancel tried to put the meeting with Vannes out of his mind as he went through his classes- an intermediate accounting course and sociology course in quick succession. He wasn’t assigned any coursework other than readings- not yet- and made his way over to the library to photocopy the course material in a daze.

By the time he made it home, Berenger was in the kitchen in the beginning of dinner prep.

“How were your classes?” he asked as he diced onions with the precision of a celebrity TV chef.

“Fine,” Ancel said.

Berenger paused, the knife hovering over the chopping board. “Is everything alright?”

Ancel swallowed and looked up at him. The concern over his face was entirely genuine and Ancel found himself smiling. “One of our students tried to blackmail me today.”

Berenger laughed quietly and went back to chopping. “Well, I’ve found that does tend to happen from time to time. You’re certainly getting a jump on it.”

Ancel laughed too.

“Who was it?” Berenger asked. “Should I-”

“It’s nothing,” Ancel interrupted. “I’ll take care of it. It’s really not a big deal.”

“You’ll tell me if that changes,” Berenger said, not a request so much as a statement of fact.

“Yes,” Ancel agreed, propping his chin on his hands.

It wasn’t much longer before the front door opened and Alfonse burst in, sweaty and wearing a soccer uniform caked in mud, while Nicaise trudged after him.

“I’m the left striker!” Alfonse announced with pride.

“Very good,” Berenger said, sparing a hand to brush Alfonse’s bangs back from his forehead. “Why don’t you go wash up for dinner.”

“Okay!” Alfonse said with an easy smile before bounding upstairs.

Nicaise sat at the kitchen island with a groan before dropping his head into his hands with all the drama of a trained actor.

“And how was your first day back, Nicaise?” Berenger asked, depositing the chopped onions into a waiting bowl before starting on garlic.

“My life is _over,”_ Nicaise whined. “I offered Sophie a ride home and she said she already had a ride. With _Lambros._ He has a _convertible._ Please, could I borrow the beamer?”

“No,” Berenger said evenly.

“Sofie?” Ancel asked, grinning. “Who’s she? Your girlfriend?”

“I wish,” Nicaise muttered. “But now she’s with _Lambros_ because he’s on the _football team._ He’s so lame.”

“Oh dear,” Ancel said.

Nicaise looked up, his eyes bloodshot and his eyeliner even more smeared than usual. “He’s a total jock but he’s got muscles up to _here-”_ he raised his hand above his head. “How can I compete with that?!”

“It’s easy enough,” Ancel said. “Just slash his tires. That way he can’t drive her home.”

“Ancel,” Berenger said firmly.

“Or better yet,” Ancel continued, “convince her he’s cheating on her.”

 _“Ancel,”_ Berenger said.

“It’s not even that hard,” Ancel said, ignoring him. “He’s a football jock, right? Start a rumor that he’s fucking one of the cheerleaders-”

_“Ancel.”_

“Yeah, yeah,” Ancel said, digging into his pocket for a sol coin to drop in the swear jar. At least Nicaise was looking more contemplative than miserable. “You just have to show her you’re the better choice, right? He’s an Akielon, by the sound of it. And she’s Veretian. You can give him the runaround and she’ll be properly impressed by your tactics, if she ever finds out.”

“Please don’t give him terrible advice, Ancel,” Berenger said, but Ancel could detect a faint smile over his lips.

“I won’t do anything bad,” Nicaise said, grinning now too. “But I- I’ll.” He bit his lip to hide his smile. “Yeah. I. Thanks. I think I’ll go wash up too.”

“Ancel,” Berenger rumbled with faint disapproval.

“What?” Ancel asked, striking a pose as he leaned against the counter. “Surely you don’t want Nicaise to be miserable _forever?”_

“Surely not,” Berenger said dryly, moving to slide seasoned chicken into an oiled pan. For a moment the sizzling of cooking meat was the only sound in the kitchen, but then he chuckled quietly. “You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

“I’m glad you think so too,” Ancel said with a pleased smirk.


	17. lick my heels and cry

* * *

Berenger’s intermediate literature class was on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8:00 to 9:30. His advanced class came soon after, from 10:00 to 11:30. The students in those particular classes were significantly more studious than the ones in the intro classes. The Tuesday/Thursday students came ready and on time, while the others staggered in on their own terms.

Ancel had had enough of it by the end of the week. He made a point of letting Berenger head off to campus without him before sauntering into class on Friday at 8:10 with a tray of coffee and donuts that he set down in the middle of Berenger’s desk.

Berenger had been speaking but he broke off in surprise.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” Ancel announced to the class, staring them down. “If you arrive five minutes early, you get free coffee and donuts. If you don’t- you’ll have to watch your classmates consume their treats and burn up with jealousy. Here’s an example of how that will feel.”

He poured himself a coffee and slowly added creamer and sugar, making a point of stirring it like he was mixing dangerous chemicals. The room was deathly silent while he took a sip and picked up a strawberry glazed donut, taking a bite.

“Mmm,” Ancel moaned demonstratively. “Delicious.” He picked up another donut, plain glazed, and turned to offer it to Berenger behind him. “Would you care for a donut, Professor?”

Berenger’s lips quirked up, the expression so faint that no one else must have noticed it. “No thank you,” he murmured politely. “Perhaps some coffee.”

“Of course,” Ancel said solicitously, pouring Berenger a cup of black coffee and handing it over before glaring back at the class. Everyone was looking at him with a mixture of longing and utmost betrayal. Good.

“Apologies for interrupting, Professor Berenger,” Ancel said politely before taking the box of donuts with him to the back of the room, where he took his customary seat. He made a show of eating them with small noises of delight, watching gleefully as the students seemed to vibrate with jealousy.

He didn’t make a show of it during the class after and, wary of running into Govart again, found an excuse to hang around in Berenger’s office until it was time for his next class.

Most days he came home early enough to help Berenger prep for dinner, chopping vegetables while Berenger prepared the rest of the food and mused about future class discussions.

The donut/coffee incentive worked better than Ancel could have ever hoped. There were rarely any stragglers into Berenger’s morning classes, and those who did stumble in late seemed properly cowed.

Everything was going swimmingly until, three weeks in, Berenger got a call in the middle of his first intro class.

He paled as he looked at the caller ID before shooting Ancel a _look_ and heading outside as he answered the call.

Ancel led the group discussion as best he could. He did a pretty good job of it, overall, until Berenger returned looking worried and motioned him over.

“It was Alfonse’s school,” Berenger said in a quiet panic. “He- he’s hurt. They said it wasn’t serious but I have to go. Could you-”

“I’ve got it,” Ancel said firmly, hiding his own worry. “Go on, take care of it.”

 _“Thank you,”_ Berenger breathed out with an embarrassing amount of vulnerability before taking his leave.

Ancel felt oddly numb as he returned to class. He knew the material, the discussion questions. He knew how to mark participation scores and reward insightful answers. And still- he felt inadequate for the role.

He’d gotten the hang of it by the time the class ended. As the students filed out he sat in Berenger’s chair and checked his phone.

_Lord Fancypants: He’s fine._

His first text message from Berenger. Ancel smiled with relief as he scrolled down to see a photo of Alfonse grinning at the camera, his left arm in a cast.

_Lord Fancypants: He’s very excited to have his friends sign his cast. He wants you to draw him a bunny._

Ancel laughed a little, typing back-

_Tell him I’ll draw him as many bunnies as he wants :)_

_Lord Fancypants: I’m taking him home. Can you handle the second class on your own?_

Could he _handle-_ Ancel scoffed, rolling his eyes at the screen even as he typed back-

_Of course I can. Everything’s under control_

By then the other students had started to file in and Ancel slipped his phone into his pocket. 

Berenger had assigned an essay after the first week because he was a monster, so Ancel handed back the graded papers. He tried not to look too smug as he returned Govart’s. He’d gotten a failing grade because he was a failure of a human being. And he had terrible spelling, which, as far as Ancel was concerned, was unforgivable in the age of spellcheck.

Govart scowled as he stared at the glaring red F.

The second class went even better than the first. The students were a bit more awake, though less hyped up on sugar and caffeine, and the discussion was easy enough to manage. Right up until Govart smirked and announced loudly in the middle of someone else’s sentence-

“I know where I remember you from. I’ve seen you at the club downtown, stripping for money like a whore.”

The class grew deathly silent and Govart raised an eyebrow.

Ancel raised an eyebrow too, letting a smirk steal over his lips as he leaned back against Berenger’s desk. “That’s right,” he purred. “I remember you too, sweetheart. You paid for a private dance but all you wanted to do was lick my heels and cry.”

There were a few nervous giggles from the other students as Govart looked increasingly sour.

“You bought a pair of used panties too,” Ancel continued mercilessly. “Was it to sniff them or wear them? We have a bet going down at the club.” The giggles grew more pronounced. “My money’s on both, by the way.”

“You-” Govart spit out furiously. “You lying bitch-”

“Rude,” Ancel interrupted. “In the classroom you’ll address me as Mr. Sanpelier. Now if we’re finished sharing personal stories, let’s return to discussing the third discussion question on the assigned reading.”

He let Govart stew as he steered the class back to discussing the course work. Ancel ignored him until the end of the period, when he hung around at the back as the other students left. And then they were alone in the room and ignoring him was no longer an option.

“Can I help you?” Ancel asked, raising his chin with a glare.

“You’re going to regret what you said,” Govart hissed. He stepped closer and Ancel took an involuntary step back. He was suddenly aware of being alone in the room with Govart- possibly alone with him in the whole damn Literature department building. He was pretty sure the next class started an hour from now.

But the way to deal with a bully was to be a bigger one. Ancel glared back at Govart towering over him. He wasn’t one to use the same trick twice, and this time the same trick wouldn’t work anyway. Govart was wearing denim jeans and a heavy jacket. Grabbing him by the balls would likely end with Ancel getting his face smashed in. Which would be a damn shame because he had a very pretty face.

Govart slapped his paper down on the desk. “You’re not cute. You remember what we talked about?”

“What? You, sniffing my panties?” Ancel asked innocently. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Govart hissed, taking another step closer.

“Then get out of my face,” Ancel hissed back. “Or maybe you want me sharing some other fun stories with the class? Maybe with your friends? Your frat brothers? I’ve got a lot of stories and an endless imagination, so-”

The rest of the sentence was cut off by Govart grabbing Ancel by the throat and shoving him back, _hard,_ against the wall.

Ancel scowled as his hands went up to grip Govart’s meaty forearm. He didn’t bother trying to force him off- he was giant and angry and his grip was already tight enough that Ancel was having trouble breathing. His thoughts raced with endless scenarios- scratching Govart’s eyes, kneeing him in the balls, stomping down on his foot with his heel-

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do any of that. His scholarship came with strings attached, and one of them was a code of conduct. If he was involved in an _altercation_ on campus, no matter who started it, he’d be out on his ass within the week.

“Next time I hand in a paper,” Govart said, leaning closer and tightening his fingers threateningly. His breath smelled of sour milk and Ancel grimaced, forcing himself to stay still instead of fighting back. “You’re going to give me an A. You got that?”

Ancel didn’t have enough breath left in his lungs to speak and he wouldn’t have even if he could have. Govart stared at him for a long moment before grinning and raising his free hand to Ancel’s face. Ancel flinched away from him, or tried to, but there was nothing he could do as Govart pulled one of his emerald earrings free from his ear and slid it into his pocket.

“Insurance,” Govart said, finally letting go and stepping back.

Ancel gulped in a breath of air and fought not to cough. “Give it back,” he managed hoarsely.

“Nah,” Govart said. “We’ll see what grade I get at the end of the semester. If you’re a good little bitch for me, you can have it back then.”

Ancel watched him leave as fury coursed through his veins like hellfire.

Before he’d made the decision to move he was leaving the room and heading outside. He felt like he was underwater, the world around him muffled and distant as he walked to the bus stop, got on the bus. He had classes soon, but all that felt far away and unimportant.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed until he was standing in front of a door in a dingy apartment building. He raised his hand to knock and the sound of it cut through the haze. He knocked again, louder, until he was banging furiously on the door.

After what felt like ages it opened.

“Jesus,” Lazar said with a yawn. “What the hell? This better be important.” And then he took a good look at Ancel and his eyes widened. “Fuck, Red. Your neck. Who did that?”  
  
“Dead man walking,” Ancel said, pushing past Lazar into the apartment. “I need to borrow Pallas. Is he here?”

“I’ll go wake him up,” Lazar muttered. “D’you need an ice pack or something?”

“I need Pallas,” Ancel said.

He was vibrating with tension while he waited in the middle of Pallas’ living room for Lazar to come back.

“Oh hell,” Pallas said, coming out of the bedroom in boxers and a tank top with Lazar trailing after him. 

“I need you to beat the shit out of someone for me,” Ancel said.

“Sure,” Pallas said. “Babe, get him a beer or something.”

Ancel startled a little when Pallas set his giant hands over his shoulders and steered him over to sit on their couch.

“He’s a big motherfucker,” Ancel said, clenching his hands into fists.

“Alright, I’ll call in some friends.” Pallas wandered off to get his phone while Lazar came back with a coffee mug full of whiskey.

Ancel took it numbly, staring at the amber liquid before he closed his eyes and took a deep swig.

“You still keep copies of people’s licences?” Ancel asked.

“Yeah, Red,” Lazar said, reaching out awkwardly to pat him with one hand as he pulled his phone out with the other. “This asshole got a name?”

“Govart,” Ancel spit out. “He said he’d been to the club. He might have been stupid enough to open a tab under his real name.”

“If he did, I’ll find him,” Lazar said reassuringly. He was still scrolling through his photos when Pallas came back fully dressed and sat on Ancel’s other side on the couch, pressing their shoulders together.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked quietly.

Ancel shook his head before taking another drink. He wasn’t sure what he felt anymore. The hot rage had faded into something cool and simmering. No one got away with fucking with him, and Govart wasn’t about to be the first.

He didn’t know how much time passed before there was another knock on the door and Pallas stood to open it.

Ancel looked up at the sound of familiar voices, blinking slowly as he watched Pallas grinning as he invited in three men- Damen, Nikandros, and Laurent.

“What the hell?” Ancel said in surprise.

“You told me to call in some friends,” Pallas said in confusion. “These are my buddies Damen and Nik-”

“We’ve met,” Ancel interrupted.

“Oh,” Laurent said, his eyes widening as he took in the state of Ancel slumped on the couch and clutching his mug of whiskey like a lifeline.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Ancel asked, not sure why there was so much venom in his voice.

“Damen said he needed to go beat someone up,” Laurent said. He didn’t seem offended as he came to sit beside Ancel and reached out to gently brush his hair back over his shoulder. He hissed in sympathy as he took in the bruising on his neck. “I wasn’t about to miss it. I had no idea it was for you. What happened?”

“Govart happened,” Ancel muttered.

“Fuck that guy,” Damen said.

“Got him,” Lazar said, moving to shove his phone screen in front of Ancel’s face. There was a dimly lit photo of Lazar’s hand holding a driver’s licence that definitely belonged to Govart. The picture was blurry, but not so blurry he couldn’t make out the address- an apartment off campus.

“That’s him,” Ancel nodded.

“Great,” Lazar said, standing. “We’ll take care of him, don’t you worry.”

“Make sure it hurts,” Ancel said. “I don’t want to see his ugly face for at least a week.”

Lazar grinned like a shark.

“And-” Ancel flushed, some of the banked fury roaring back into life. “He stole my earring. I want it back.”

“You got it,” Lazar said with a wink and a mock salute, leading the three Akielons out the door.

Laurent whistled low and slow, like he was impressed. “I didn’t know you had such a vicious streak.”

Ancel tossed back the rest of the whiskey and slammed it down on the coffee table before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“This is me being nice,” he muttered darkly. “When I get vicious I prefer to set things on fire.”


	18. Veretian to the core

* * *

While Ancel waited, still fuming, on Pallas’ couch, Laurent went about poking through the apartment while occasionally making curious noises.

Finally Ancel’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket to see a message from Lazar.

_Asshole #3: He’s not home_

Ancel frowned, typing furiously.

_Maybe he’s just not answering the door_

In response Lazar sent a picture of himself in front of an open fridge holding a giant sandwich. Behind him Ancel could make out Damen and Nickandros arm wrestling on a dingy coffee table while Pallas napped on a futon, his head pillowed on his muscular arms.

_Asshole #3: I don’t think that’s it. Don’t worry, when he gets back we’ll give him a warm welcome ;)_

Okay then. Ancel sighed in disappointment. 

“What is it?” Laurent asked, coming over.

“Govart’s not home,” Ancel said. “Lazar must have picked the lock. They’re waiting for him to get back.”

“That could take hours.”

“Then I’ll wait hours.”

“We don’t have to wait _here,_ do we,” Laurent said. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“I can’t go home,” Ancel muttered, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear nervously. He was a wreck. He couldn’t have Berenger seeing him like this. He’d probably ask all sorts of questions. Fuck. If he knew that Ancel was having one of his students beaten up…

Laurent looked at him, his gaze painfully knowing. “They’re not home yet,” he said gently. “Knowing Berenger he took Alfonse to the family physician for a second opinion, and then for tea and cake and a pony ride. It’s fine.”

Ancel sighed, fiddling with his phone. “Okay,” he said at last.

They locked the door behind them and went out onto the street, where Laurent called a taxi.

The house was empty, just like Laurent had said it would be. Ancel took the opportunity to shower, wincing as he stared at himself in the mirror afterwards. His fair skin had always been quick to bruise, and now he had five livid marks on his throat from Govart’s meaty fingers.

He went to his room and got dressed before carefully applying concealer to his neck. He did his make up and hair after, drying and curling it so it fell in soft waves to his shoulders. That, at least, made him feel a bit more normal. It still hurt to see a single lonesome emerald earring hanging from his ear, so he took it off and slipped it into his pocket. He’d have its pair back soon enough, but for now… it felt worse to wear just the one.

There was no point in going back to campus, he’d already missed his classes for the day. He went down to the library instead, where Laurent was sitting on a couch with a laptop, frowning thoughtfully at the screen.

“What are you doing?” Ancel asked, sitting next to him.

“Trying to crack Berenger’s faculty password so we can look up Govart’s transcript,” Laurent answered.

“What?” Ancel asked in alarm. _“Why?”_

“So we can destroy him,” Laurent said, frowning in confusion as though what he was doing was obvious. “We’re going to get him expelled.”

“No,” Ancel said. “It’s handled. He’s not going to fuck with me again. It’s over.”

“Maybe for you,” Laurent scoffed. “You think you’re the only one he’s been harassing? He tried to corner me in an empty hallway a week after the Halloween incident. Sure, I kicked him in the balls and he left me alone, but- not everyone has the guts to fight back.”

Ancel searched for something to say and came up empty.

There was the sound of a key turning in a lock and the front door opened. Laurent hurriedly closed the browser tab he had open to the school website. Ancel stared incredulously as the next tab was revealed- search results on common household poisons. Laurent closed that too.

“Ancel!” Alfonse cried out, running into the room. He was still in his school uniform, though his left sleeve had been cut away and he was wearing Berenger’s coat draped over his shoulders like a cape. “Laurie! Look! I broke my arm!”

“Oh,” Ancel said, stifling a laugh. He moved over so Alfonse could climb up on the couch between them. He had a strawberry ice cream cone in his uninjured hand and his cast already had one signature on it- _Berenger-_ in neat cursive. “Oh dear. Let me help you off with your shoes, honey.”

He moved to unlace Alfonse’s sneakers as Laurent wrapped an arm around the boy and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“How did you manage that, sweetheart?” Laurent asked.

Berenger sighed heavily as he came into the room.

“There’s a new boy in school,” Alfonse said easily, helpfully putting his feet in Ancel’s lap so he didn’t have to crouch on the ground to untie his shoes. “He was being mean to my friend Rosalie, and when I told him to stop he pushed me down the stairs.”

“Holy sh-” Ancel started only to break off. He coughed awkwardly. “Holy sheep. He pushed you down the stairs?”

Alfonse nodded. “And I broke my arm falling, and then I beat him up.”

Ancel let out a startled snort.

“You beat him up with one broken arm?” Laurent asked, trying to hide a smile.

“Well I didn’t break my _good_ arm,” Alfonse said. “I did it just like Nickie showed me- thumb _outside_ my fingers, and also I kicked him between the legs. Anyways, he’s not gonna bother me or my friend Rosalie again.”

Ancel finished pulling off Alfonse’s shoes and handed them off to Berenger, hovering anxiously over them. He went and put them away in the entrance hall before returning.

“Wow,” Ancel told him, widening his eyes performatively. “You’ve raised a hellion. Dare I ask what sort of punishment he’s earned for this?”

“He was defending himself and his friend,” Berenger said simply. “We went for ice cream.”

Alfonse let out a peal of laughter and Ancel turned back just in time to see Laurent taking a giant bite out of his ice cream before pretending to get a brain freeze.

“Alright, defender of justice,” Berenger said fondly to Alfonse. “Why don’t you go on and change out of your school uniform.”

“Okay,” Alfonse said easily, handing his ice cream to Laurent before running a little awkwardly up the stairs.

“I’m glad he’s alright,” Ancel said, looking after him.

“He’s had a rather eventful day,” Berenger said. His gaze turned shrewd as he looked at Ancel and Laurent sitting on the couch with the laptop open on the coffee table, the screen showing a search result for “cake recipes” as though Laurent would ever deign to bake a cake in his entire life.

“How was your day?” Berenger asked, something suspicious in his tone.

“Fine,” Ancel answered too quickly.

Berenger narrowed his eyes. “You’re not wearing your earrings.”

Ancel raised a self conscious hand to his ear before he could stop himself.

“And you’ve got something…” Berenger continued, stepping closer to slip his fingers under Ancel’s shirt collar.

Ancel flinched and Berenger pulled back with a scowl, rubbing his fingers together and staring at the faint stain of makeup over them. When he looked once more to meet Ancel’s eyes his face was pale, his lips pinched.

“What happened,” he said, less question and more demand. “Was it Louans? Did he-”

 _“No,”_ Ancel interrupted. “No. Loans… I haven’t heard from him. Not since…”

“Then-”

“Don’t,” Laurent said firmly. “You don’t need to get involved. It’s handled.”

Ancel adjusted his collar nervously.

“A student then,” Berenger said flatly. “Who-”

 _“Don’t,”_ Laurent repeated. “It’s handled.”

“Uncle Berry!” Alfonse’s voice drifted down from the second floor. “I need help with my buttons!”

Berenger took an instinctive step towards the stairs before pausing. He looked between Ancel and Laurent, still deceptively calm even though Ancel could see the way his hands were trembling at his sides. He swallowed and turned his face towards the stairs. “I’m coming,” he called out before turning back.

Ancel flushed and lowered his face as Laurent glared with determination.

Berenger cleared his throat. “You know,” he started, deceptively casual. “There was a big scandal a few months back. It seems the IT department at the college is so backed up they don’t even deactivate the accounts of retired faculty members until years later.”

With that cryptic statement he turned to go up the stairs, leaving Ancel and Laurent alone.

“What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean,” Ancel muttered.

Laurent laughed. “Herode,” he said, like that made any sense. “He meant Herode.” Laurent picked up the laptop and opened the college webpage again. “Herode was my faculty advisor before he retired last year. He kept his password written down on a sticky note on his monitor.”

“Well shit,” Ancel said with a small smile, impressed that Berenger had not only figured out what had happened but also what Laurent was planning. “I didn’t know he was so… devious.”

“Don’t be fooled by the sappy Akielon poetry,” Laurent said with a smirk. “He’s Veretian to the core.” 

His fingers were a blur of motion as he typed in a username and password, and then he was logged in to the faculty side of the website. It didn’t take him long to pull up Govart’s transcript and Ancel leaned closer.

“Shit,” he breathed out. “He’s already failing.”

“He should have failed out last year, actually,” Laurent said, scrolling through the report.

“Then _why-”_

“He’s on the football team,” Laurent said with a scoff. “They must be keeping him on to boost the school rankings.”

“I can ask Pallas to break his legs,” Ancel said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then he won’t be able to play and they’ll kick him out.”

Laurent looked at him with a sympathetic smile. “Football season is in the fall. I think his legs would heal by then.”

“Ugh,” Ancel groaned. “What a waste of time.”

“We’ll get him,” Laurent said confidently, closing the computer.

By then Alfonse was already coming back down the stairs, dressed in pajama pants and what looked like one of Berenger’s t-shirts. He was swimming in it, but at least the arm holes were wide enough that it must have been easy to get the cast through. He was clutching a fistful of markers in his right hand and grinning as he came back to sit on the couch.

“Will you sign my cast?” he asked with a smile.

“Of course, honey,” Ancel said, picking out markers.

He ended up drawing a whole family of bunnies and afterwards Laurent signed Alfonse’s cast too, and then helped him pull his school work out of his book bag.

While Alfonse muttered about math problems Ancel tried to distract himself with his phone, hoping for a message from Lazar. There was still no word by the time Nicaise came home and hung his keys haphazardly on the hook, dropping his backpack on the ground in the entrance hall. 

“Yo,” he announced. “Damen’s here with three beefy dudes? I’m assuming it’s for you.”

“Nickie!” Alfonse said, clambering to his feet. “Sign my cast!”

“Sure thing, Fonz,” Nicaise said, coming over to flop on the couch and grab some markers while Ancel followed Laurent to the door.

Sure enough, Damen and the others were waiting on the front stoop. Damen smiled sheepishly and ran his fingers through his hair. His knuckles were bruised and bloody.

“Hey, Red,” Lazar said easily. “Got a delivery for you.” He held out a folded napkin and Ancel took it. When he carefully unfolded the parcel he smiled to find his earring inside.

Ancel breathed out a sigh of relief and slipped the earring back on before pulling its twin out of his pocket, putting that one on too. “Thank you,” he said, his voice wobbling.

Lazar pulled him into a hug with a quiet laugh and someone patted him on the back. Pallas, probably, judging by the size of the hand.

“Sure,” Pallas said with an easy grin. “Any time.”

Nikandros crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “Let’s not make a habit out of it, though,” he muttered.

“It’s been real,” Lazar said, stepping back beside Pallas and slipping a hand into his back pocket. “Some of us have to get to work soon though. Don’t be a stranger.”

As they left Laurent stepped forward and took Damen’s hand. “Stay for dinner?” he asked, looking up into Damen’s eyes soulfully.

“Can’t, sorry,” Damen said with a wry smile. “We’ve got some house stuff tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Okay,” Laurent said, letting him go. They continued gazing at each other dreamily, looking for all the world like two lovers bidding each other goodbye because one was going off to war. Ancel met Nikandros’ eye over Damen’s shoulder and stifled a grin when Nikandros pretended to gag.

“Alright, loverboy,” Nikandros announced, taking Damen by the arm and starting to drag him away. “Our work here is done.”

Laurent continued staring after him so Ancel took it upon himself to shut the door. When he turned around he nearly jumped to see Nicaise standing behind them, his hands on his hips.

“What was that all about?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Ancel said, breezing past him into the kitchen. Dinner was probably already ready by now anyway, wasn’t it? The house smelled of butter and garlic and roasted meat, and when Ancel went to the cupboard for dishes he saw Berenger turning the stove off before giving a giant pot a final stir.

“What’s for dinner?” Ancel asked.

“Boeuf bourguignon and chocolate soufflés,” Berenger said, glancing over at him. His gaze lingered a moment and then he smiled and looked away. “I see you’ve found your earrings.”

“Yes,” Ancel said, blushing as he handed over a stack of five bowls.

“I told you it was handled,” Laurent said, coming into the room with Nicaise and Alfonse trailing after him.


	19. getting on like a house on fire

* * *

Govart was notably absent from class for the rest of the week, a fact that no one mentioned, not even Berenger.

Ancel found himself equal parts relieved and anxious. It was certainly nicer not to have Govart glaring at him from the back of the room during class, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen when he came back.

Would he take the hint and leave well enough alone? Or would he try to get back at Ancel somehow, corner him in an empty room or maybe tattle on him to the administration. But surely if that was what he was planning, he would have done it by now? If he had any proof that Ancel was involved in four guys breaking into his place to beat him up, Ancel was sure he would have already gotten a visit from the police.

But nothing happened, and nothing happened, and then on Saturday afternoon he came into the kitchen to see Berenger wearing dark jeans and a bright blue t-shirt. The jeans were clearly well worn, soft with age. They hugged Berenger’s ass sinfully, which was highly inappropriate. The t-shirt seemed unnecessarily tight too, and it had a picture of a horse on it surrounded by the slogan _“The Marlas Chargers.”_

It took Ancel a moment to notice that Berenger was in the process of filling up two giant tupperwares. One contained orange slices, the other dainty little ham and cheese sandwiches cut into triangles. There was a smaller tupperware with a fruit tart inside, and some sort of thermos.

“Are you taking Alfonse on a picnic?” Ancel asked uncertainly. This was like no “enrichment activity” he’d seen before.

“Soccer,” Berenger said, fussing over getting the orange slices to fit perfectly before sealing the lid. “It’s the first game of the season. I’ve volunteered to bring snacks for the team.”

Nicaise snorted as he came into the kitchen, flipping a set of keys in his hand. “He’s sucking up to the coach, he means.”

“I’m not sucking up,” Berenger said defensively. “Is Laurent coming?”

Nicaise rolled his eyes. “Even if he wanted to watch you yell at the ref and get kicked out of the stands, he’s busy with _Damen.”_

“I will not yell at the ref,” Berenger protested, somewhat sheepishly.

“Really, Uncle Berry?” Alfonse asked, coming into the room dressed in his full soccer kit and still in his cast.

“Can I come?” Ancel asked. “I’d love to watch you yell at the ref and get kicked out of the stands.”

“I’m not going to yell at the ref,” Berenger repeated.

Ancel hid his smile as he went back upstairs to change. It was an unseasonably warm day so he put on his tightest jeans and some boots, along with a silky shirt that was a bit see-through in the right light, and a wide-brimmed hat. He returned to the kitchen just in time to see Berenger put on a pair of aviator sunglasses and lead the boys out to the car.

Nicaise drove ten minutes to the nearby highschool’s soccer field, where there was an already growing crowd of kids in bright jerseys and bored-looking parents filling up the bleachers.

Nicaise took Alfonse by the hand and led him over to his teammates while Ancel helped Berenger carry food to a stern-looking man with a face like a brick. He was also wearing a shirt with the slogan _“The Marlas Chargers”_ on it and he had a whistle around his neck.

“Orlant,” Berenger said with a smile that seemed a little strained around the eyes. “The snacks for the team.”

“Right,” the man, apparently Alfonse’s coach, said. He narrowed his eyes with suspicion but took the orange slices and the sandwiches anyway, leaving Berenger with the fruit tart and the thermos.

“Go on and find a seat,” Berenger said to Ancel, nodding over to the stands before walking briskly to a young woman in a referee’s uniform.

Ancel found a comfortable seat as he watched Berenger talking to the ref only to eventually hand over the tart and jog over to the opposing team- wearing red shirts labelled _“Vaskian Raiders.”_

Their coach was a giant woman who had nearly a head on Berenger. Ancel watched as Berenger smiled and said something Ancel couldn’t hear at this distance. And then he watched closer as Berenger raised his arm to scratch the back of his head and his shirt rode up a little, revealing a strip of pale skin and a tantalizing hint of toned abs. He didn’t seem to notice the coach giving him a once over, too busy saying something that made the both of them laugh. He didn’t _seem_ to notice, except for how he angled his body so it was subtly on display.

“Oh my god,” Ancel said in shock. “He’s-”

“Disgusting,” Nicaise said, plopping down on the seat beside Ancel.

“Is he- _flirting_ with the opposing team’s coach?”

“Ugh,” Nicaise said, wrinkling his nose.

Across the field, Berenger and the giant woman seemed to be getting on like a house on fire. Berenger handed over the thermos and the woman slapped him on the back hard enough to almost knock him over.

“He’s _gay,”_ Ancel protested, scandalized.

“He has to make nice _somehow,”_ Nicaise said, clearly bored as he looked around the gathering throng of spectators. “Last season he accused Halvik of doping her kids so they’d have an advantage.”

“Well,” Ancel said, squinting at the opposing team. One of the boys had a five-o-clock shadow. “They are quite… large.”

“Halvik nearly knocked his face in,” Nicaise muttered. “So now he’s buttering her up so she doesn’t have him kicked out.”

“Who knew the world of little league was so full of intrigue,” Ancel said, watching as Berenger made his way back to the stands.

“Are you getting kicked out, old man?” Nicaise asked as Berenger took a seat.

“I’m not old,” Berenger said before smiling and waving to Alfonse, who was doing warmups with his team on the sideline. Alfonse waved back eagerly.

“Who let you in here?” came a sour voice that made Ancel flinch.

“Vannes,” Berenger greeted her evenly.

“Professor Vannes,” Ancel said with a small smile.

“Hm,” she said, looking between the two of them with a flinty-eyed glare. There was a woman beside her wearing a _“Vaskian Raiders”_ shirt and sipping a smoothie.

“Hello,” Berenger said to the woman. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

He held out his hand but Vannes scoffed and slapped it away. “Don’t talk to Talik. You’re going down. You and your rotten little team.”

“We’ll see,” Berenger said. “Try not to cheat this time.”

“As if,” Vannes said before stalking away, her lady friend following nonchalantly.

“Are you two going to fight?” Ancel asked, staring after them.

“Of course not.”

“Sure,” Ancel said. “It’s just, she’s my academic advisor and I don’t want to piss her off.”

“There’s Sophie,” Nicaise said, jerking to his feet with a grin spreading on his face. “I’m gonna- bye!”

He affected a casual saunter down the stairs toward the field, where a pretty brunette was talking to one of Alfonse’s friends. The girl seemed delighted to see Nicaise, who was blushing a little as they talked.

“Huh,” Ancel said, watching.

It caught him off-guard when a whistle rang through the air- the match was starting. Ancel turned his attention to the boys running around on the field. He didn’t really know any rules beyond the basics, but it was fun watching Alfonse running around and kicking proverbial ass.

Berenger was tense beside him, occasionally making vaguely rude sounding noises under his breath and tensing any time any of the boys got too close to Alfonse.

When Alfonse tripped and fell Berenger surged to his feet, practically vibrating with tension as he waited for Alfonse to stand up.

“Easy,” Ancel said, tugging on the hem of his shirt until he sat down again. “He’s fine. Look- he’s laughing.”

“That was a foul,” Berenger muttered, but didn’t make any move to charge down to the field like he clearly wanted to.

“Easy,” Ancel said, patting him carefully on the back until his shoulders relaxed again. There was a whistle off to the side and Ancel turned just in time to see Vannes and her girlfriend flipping them off. _“Wow,”_ he said, appalled.

Berenger chanced a glance over and scoffed before crossing his arms over his chest. “Ignore them. They’re just sore they’re losing.”

 _Losing_ seemed like a bit of a premature judgement- as far as Ancel could tell the score was even. He didn’t think mentioning that was a good idea at the moment.

“So you get pretty fired up about this whole little league thing, huh,” he said instead, leaning back and adjusting his sun hat.

“I-” Berenger started before growing a bit sheepish. “I suppose.”

Alfonse scored a goal and Berenger jumped up to his feet again, this time to clap and let out an ear splitting whistle. Alfonse waved from the field before his teammates came over to tackle him in celebration.

“He’s good,” Ancel said.

“Of course he is,” Berenger said, beaming with pride. “They’re definitely not catching up now.” He seemed significantly more relaxed, so Ancel supposed it was probably true.

For a while they watched in silence. It looked like Alfonse’s team really was about to win- they were a few goals ahead with only ten minutes left on the clock.

“In case you were wondering,” Berenger started thoughtfully, “Govart has been expelled.”

“What?!” Ancel asked, turning to him in surprise to find Berenger looking back at him.

“There was a surprise drug test for the football team,” Berenger continued. “They do them even in the off season. He failed.”

“Oh my god,” Ancel muttered in shock. It was Laurent. It had to be. Somehow he’d managed to drug Govart, or maybe sabotage the test itself.

“You didn’t know?” Berenger asked mildly.

“Of course not!” Ancel exclaimed. “You didn’t-” he broke off and looked around, but no one was paying any attention to them. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “You didn’t think I had anything to do with it, did you?”

Berenger shrugged and looked back to the field. Ancel could swear he was smiling. “Why would I think you or anyone else had anything to do with it?”

“Okay,” Ancel said slowly. He looked back to the field and tried not to fidget. It could have been a coincidence, of course. Except the most likely explanation was that Laurent was terrifying.

At least Berenger didn’t look angry. If anything, he seemed amused.

Ancel watched as Alfonse scored another goal and the game came to a close, _The Marlas Chargers_ hooting and hollering and patting each other on the back while the _Vaskian Raiders_ stood dejectedly off to the side.

“Excuse me,” Berenger said, pulling out his phone.

Ancel watched as he started typing up a text to Professor Vannes. It read-

_Eat shit._

“You can’t send that!” Ancel hissed, scandalized.

“Too late,” Berenger said smugly, hitting send. They both looked over to see Vannes pull out her phone and scowl down at the screen before standing.

“We’d better go,” Berenger said, standing too and heading away from her, towards the field.

Alfonse and his teammates were roughhousing in celebration but when Alfonse caught sight of Berenger he ran over with a laugh.

“Did you see?” he asked, smiling widely. “We won!”

“Of course,” Berenger said, smiling too as he reached out to brush Alfonse’s hair back from his forehead.

“Hey little man,” Nicaise said, descending out of nowhere to pick Alfonse up and spin him around a few times. “Good game!”

Alfonse grinned before one of his friends called his name and his attention was effectively diverted. There was some conversation that took place mainly in the form of mimed hand signs and then Alfonse looked back to Berenger with a beseeching expression.

“Tommy’s maman is taking the team for pizza to celebrate- can I go, Uncle Berry? Please?”

“Of course,” Berenger said. “You know to call me if you need anything. Go have fun with your friends.”

“Okay,” Alfonse said, flashing them one more blinding smile before rushing off.

“Soo,” Nicaise said, drawing out the word into a long hissing syllable.

“What is it,” Berenger said suspiciously.

“Speaking of dinner,” Nicaise said with put-on innocence. “I kind of asked Sophie out. And she said yes. Can I borrow the credit card? And. Uh. The car?”

“As happy as I am for you and Sofie,” Berenger said, “if you take the car- how are Ancel and I supposed to get home?”

“Uh,” Nicaise said, scratching the back of his head. “Cab?”

“We can walk,” Ancel announced. The weather was nice, and being alone with Berenger in his oddly dressed-down game-day outfit sounded rather pleasant. Between one thing and another, they hadn’t had a chance to spend much time alone together which was putting a damper on Ancel’s seduction plans.

“If you’re sure,” Berenger said.

“He’s sure,” Nicaise said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Berenger relinquished his keys and credit card with a quiet sigh. “Drive safe!” he called after Nicaise who’d already turned away.

“I don’t think it’s possible for him to drive otherwise,” Ancel said. He had the urge to take Berenger’s hand but that was probably too much too fast. He grinned and took Berenger’s arm instead, pulling him away from the field and towards the sidewalk, turning them towards home. “I’ve never seen a teenager use turn signals so religiously. What did you do to him?”

“Me?” Berenger asked, raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t teach him to drive. Clarisse did last summer.”

“Dear god,” Ancel said with a wince. “Okay. That makes sense.” He tried not to read too much into the fact that Berenger wasn’t pulling away.

They walked for a while, talking easily about the game or class or Nicaise’s budding new relationship, until Ancel heard music in the distance and stopped, trying to figure out where it was coming from. “What is that?”

“The spring festival, probably,” Berenger said.

“The what?”

“It’s a campus event,” Berenger said. “They have it every year before spring break.”

“We should go,” Ancel announced brightly. A walk, a festival- it was practically a date.

“Wouldn’t you have more fun going with your friends?” Berenger asked.

Ancel rolled his eyes. “If my _friends_ weren’t so busy shoving their tongues down their boyfriend’s throats, maybe I would.”

Berenger made a small noise of amusement, letting Ancel steer him towards the music. Ancel let go of Berenger before the festival came into view, conscious of the fact that they might run into someone they knew.

The festival consisted of a few tents set up on the college green and seemed to be full of wide-eyed freshmen. There were food stalls and carnival style games, and even a fenced off paddock where giggling students were playing with dogs from the neighborhood pound.

“Look,” Ancel said, pointing to a stall with a shooting game. There was an array of prizes hanging from the rack next to it. The grand prize was a giant pink bunny. “We should get it for Alfonse!”

“Have you seen his room?” Berenger asked, following as Ancel made a bee-line for the stand. “He has more than enough bunnies, I promise.”

“Don’t be a spoil sport,” Ancel said, slapping a few sol on the counter while a bored-looking grad student handed over a flimsy plastic bb rifle. There were targets at the back of the stall, round plates with hearts painted on them in glittery red paint.

Ancel tried a few shots, missing each time, and groaned with exasperation. It’s not like he was some crack shot, but the targets weren’t even that far away.

“This game is rigged,” he muttered, the grad student manning the booth ignoring him in favor of fucking around on his phone.

“Yes,” Berenger said. “Go ahead and aim. Don’t shoot yet.”

Ancel did what he was told as Berenger stepped closer and set his right hand on Ancel’s lower back. Ancel had to bite his lip so he wouldn’t gasp in shock. He could count on one hand the times that Berenger had initiated touch between them. He pretended everything was normal as Berenger used the index finger of his free hand to push the barrel of the rifle two inches to the right.

“Alright,” he said. “Now. Squeeze the trigger.”

Ancel squeezed the trigger. There was a dull pop of the bb and a plate went down with a metallic clang. Ancel laughed in surprise and tried not to feel disappointed when Berenger’s hand dropped away.

“The sight is off,” Berenger said.

“Maybe you should take over,” Ancel said, handing over the rifle.

Berenger took it and promptly knocked down five more plates. Ancel didn’t know anything about guns but he could tell that Berenger knew what he was doing just by his easy stance, the almost bored sense of confidence.

They would have gotten the grand prize if Ancel hadn’t wasted the first few shots, but instead the grad student pointed them to a rack of small plushies instead.

“Are you some sort of gun expert?” Ancel asked while Berenger perused the toys. There was a bunny, blue and sparkly with a bow around its neck.

“Hardly,” Berenger said. “When I was a boy, my father thought hunting would be a good bonding activity for us. The shooting lessons were fine enough, but then he took me to hunt quail and I cried for hours.”

Ancel snorted at the thought, tiny Berenger (who in his mind looked quite a bit like Alfonse) crying over a dead bird. He watched as Berenger reached past the bunny to select a bright red stuffed fox instead. And then Berenger turned and handed it over. To Ancel.

Ancel looked down at it in confusion before reaching out and taking it.

“Alfonse has enough toys,” Berenger said by way of explanation. Ancel couldn’t help grinning, feeling warm all over as his heart fluttered in his chest. This was definitely a date now. Wasn’t it?

Unfortunately there were no more toys or touching as they wandered the stalls of carnival games and snacks. Berenger explained the way the games were rigged while the various students running them looked on in boredom.

With Laurent, Nicaise, and Alfonse all out for the night, they stopped at a stall selling tacos and found a place to sit overlooking the quad and the bustle of students having fun.

As he ate, Ancel couldn’t help sneaking glances at Berenger, his sunglasses and tshirt, his _jeans._ He was never dressed so casually, had never seemed so approachable. Like maybe Ancel could reach out and kiss him and Berenger wouldn’t pull away.

“You’re staring,” Berenger said, raising his hand to his mouth self-consciously. “Is there something-”

“No,” Ancel said with a laugh, forcing himself to look away. “I just- I’m not used to you looking cool for once.”

“I used to be very cool,” Berenger said lightly. “I was in college once too, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Ancel asked. “Were you a party animal? Drinking every day and a different hookup every night?”

Berenger smiled wryly. “Something like that.”

“Wow,” Ancel said. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite picture it. “What happened?”

“Alfonse happened,” Berenger said. “His father died while Clarisse was deployed overseas. Social services dropped him on my doorstep and I had to get my life together very quickly after that.”

“Oh,” Ancel said with a wince. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Berenger said. “He likely saved me from chlamydia and liver damage.”

Ancel wasn’t sure if Berenger was joking or telling the truth, but that didn’t stop him from laughing anyway. “Lucky you.”

“Very,” Berenger said, his smile wide and uncomplicated.


	20. a flirtation from a lover

* * *

There were two more little league games before spring break. Ancel went to both of them with pleasure and no small amount of trepidation- but at least Berenger didn’t get into any fights with Vannes, or the referees, or the team coaches.

When spring break rolled around Laurent took Damen off to Arles and Auguste showed up to take Nicaise on a road trip through Vask. Nicaise had already broken up with Sophie by then in a rather dramatic fashion and was practically drooling over the thought of the Vaskian girls he’d meet on the trip. Clarisse showed up too, clearly timing her visit so it wouldn’t coincide with Auguste’s. She took Alfonse off on a vacation that sounded more like some sort of survivalist camping course that Alfonse was unreasonably excited about.

That left Ancel and Berenger alone in the house, something that Ancel couldn’t help feeling a little giddy about. Very little changed, even without Alfonse and the others underfoot. They had breakfast at seven, though Berenger toned it down a little for the two of them. Afterwards they went up to Berenger’s office where Berenger would sit at his desk and Ancel would sprawl out on the couch while they graded a mountain of midterms.

Ancel helped with dinner in the evenings and then they’d part ways. Berenger went off to write or work or whatever he did. Ancel relaxed with a bath or a book, or a bit of TV. A few times he went down to the club to visit Lazar and Pallas.

It was rather nice, in all. Peaceful, relaxing. Berenger was much less formal when the house was empty, sometimes even wearing his pajamas and dressing gown until lunch time. Ancel soon followed suit, wandering around barefoot in a lacy slip and tiny silk shorts, his hair falling in loose shining waves past his shoulders.

“Erasmus wants to fuck you,” Ancel announced one morning. He was laid out on Berenger’s couch like a drunk dilettante, one strap of his camisole sliding down his shoulder and his long legs bare over the couch cushions. The only thing that ruined the image were the stacks of essays strewn over and around him like debris from a snow storm.

“Excuse me?” Berenger asked with a quiet snort.

“This is the third essay he’s written about one of the more raunchy poems,” Ancel said, frowning at the typed words. _“His cheek rests against mine,_ _happiness like this comes once in a thousand years.”_

“I don’t think it’s meant to be about me,” Berenger said with thinly veiled amusement.

“Well it’s not about _me,”_ Ancel muttered. All of the poems made a point of describing “dark-haired beauties.” Ancel was beautiful, but dark haired he was not. “Oh my god,” he said as he abruptly remembered Erasmus’ dark-haired study buddy. He should have realized earlier- they sat next to each other every day in Berenger’s advanced class on Isagoras. “It’s about Kallias, isn’t it.”

He scrambled to search the essays to check what Kallias had turned in, only to come up empty. Ancel bounded to his feet and over to Berenger’s desk, rifling unceremoniously through the stacks of student work waiting to be graded.

“Ancel-” Berenger started.

“Hush,” Ancel said before grabbing Kallias’ essay with a victorious laugh and perching on the edge of Berenger’s desk to read it. “Oh my god, he’s writing about blonds!”

He looked up from the pages to abruptly realize that he and Berenger were awfully close. Berenger’s hair was still tousled from sleep, impossibly soft looking. There was stubble on his cheeks and Ancel’s fingers itched with the urge to reach out and touch. 

“They’re in love,” Ancel said. “We should help them along. Partner them in a project or something. It will be a public service.”

“I don’t make a habit of playing matchmaker for my students,” Berenger said.

Ancel leaned back on the desk and crossed his legs, his heart pounding as he watched the way Berenger resolutely did not look. But he wanted to. Ancel knew he wanted to.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Ancel said, his voice low and a little hoarse. He wasn’t talking about Erasmus and Kallias anymore.

Berenger’s adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed and then cleared his throat, looking down at his desk and gathering the papers that Ancel had disturbed. “You’re wrinkling the essays,” was all he said.

Ancel rose with a put upon sigh and made a point of stretching, knowing it would make his camisole ride up. Knowing exactly how obscene his satisfied groan would sound. Berenger seemed a bit flushed afterwards, which Ancel took as a victory.

“I’m getting some tea,” he said. “Would you like anything?”

“Thank you,” Berenger said stiffly, “tea would be wonderful.”

Ancel headed to the kitchen to put on the kettle and sort through the day’s mail. Most of it was junk and other boring nonsense but there was a heavy red envelope with a satin ribbon wrapped around it addressed to Jean Vannier, Berenger’s pen name.

Despite his curiosity, Ancel restrained himself from opening it, tucking it under his arm while he carried the tea upstairs.

“What’s this?” he asked once the tea had been set down, brandishing the envelope in Berenger’s face.

“Oh,” Berenger said with a faint wince. “It’s nothing. Throw it out.”

Ancel raised his eyebrow and pointedly slipped his fingernail under the flap, tearing it open in one smooth motion. There was a heavy bit of card stock inside, an invitation printed with gold lettering. The curved font at the very top read _The Rose Ball._

“You’re invited to a ball,” Ancel said in disbelief.

“It’s not a ball,” Berenger said.

“It says ball right here,” Ancel said, shoving the invitation towards him.

“It’s more of a… get together,” Berenger said, taking the card and scanning it with a perfunctory gaze. “An industry event. My agent insists on inviting me even though I never go.”

“Why not?” Ancel demanded, snatching the invitation back.

“It’s just stuffy old men and smug hotshots trying to show off for one another,” Berenger muttered. “Comparing book sales and advances and how many fan letters they’ve gotten.”

Ancel set down the invitation to look at him critically. “Are you shy because you don’t get fan letters?”

“I get plenty of fan letters,” Berenger said. “That doesn’t mean I want to go hobnobbing around with people who write filth for a living.”

“People like you?” Ancel asked, amused.

“I also have a real job,” Berenger said, looking down with a faint flush.

“It says that you get a plus one,” Ancel said, reading it over again. “You should take me.”

Berenger flushed harder. “I can’t-”

“Who else are you going to take?” Ancel pushed. “No one except for me knows your secret identity. _Please._ I’ve never been to a ball. It’ll be fun.”

“It will be horrible,” Berenger muttered darkly. It wasn’t a no.

“What should I wear?” Ancel forged ahead while Berenger looked on a little helplessly. “I’ll need new clothes, and jewelry. Nicaise isn’t around, so you have to drive me. It’s tomorrow night so we’ll go shopping in the morning. What are you going to wear?”

“A suit.”

“A suit,” Ancel repeated, rolling his eyes. “That’s not helpful. What kind of suit? Single breasted? Double? How many buttons? Is it tailored in the Veretian style or the Akielon? Patran?”

“It’s black,” was all Berenger said.

“Show me,” Ancel said, taking Berenger’s hand and pulling him to his feet and then out of the room and towards his bedroom. He hesitated in front of the door, suddenly uncertain of his welcome, but Berenger simply opened it with a put-upon sigh and led the way inside.

Ancel followed, taking his first good look at Berenger’s bedroom. It was dominated by a huge bed, the sheets still rumpled from the night before. A painting of Ios hung above it, the colors so vivid it seemed more real than even a photo. Ancel could practically feel the warm ocean breeze against his face, could hear the seagulls calling in the distance as they flew over the bone white cliffs.

The nightstands to either side of the bed bore small stacks of books and a half full glass of water. Potted plants hung from the ceiling by the windows, one overlooking the front of the house and one the back. There was a richly patterned rug covering the floor, a mix of Veretian and Vaskian designs picked out in vibrant jewel tones. It was a lovely room, spacious while managing to be cozy and inviting all at the same time.

While Ancel gawked Berenger walked over to a walk-in closet and rummaged around with the clacking of hangers and the rustle of cloth. Ancel looked over just in time to see him hold up a clear garment bag.

“This is the suit I always wear,” Berenger said.

Ancel went over for a closer inspection. It was a fine enough suit, cut in the slimmer Veretian style which would highlight the trim lines of Berenger’s body.

“What about the tie?” Ancel asked.

Berenger had a rack of ties that Ancel flipped through with disapproval. Half of them were boring blue or brown, the other half clearly gifts from Alfonse, or prank gifts from Nicaise or maybe even Berenger’s students. One of the ties had pictures of cartoon stars on it, another was covered in obnoxious purple pineapples.

“I’ll take care of the tie,” Ancel said with a frown.

“Or we could stay home,” Berenger tried. “Order a pizza. Watch a movie. _Not_ descend into the viper’s pit.”

Ancel smirked. “Not a chance.”

* * *

Berenger drove them to the mall the following day and then escaped to some bookstore, leaving Ancel alone with his credit card to do the shopping. That was fine enough by Ancel. He took his time perusing clothes and jewelry, and by the time Berenger returned, he was already at the checkout counter.

After they got home Ancel didn’t waste any time getting ready, starting with a luxurious bath. Afterwards he curled his hair and put it up into a complicated up-do, pinning it in place with gold pins. He’d bought gold heels and a trim white suit he’d gotten adjusted at the store. It hugged all the right places, emphasizing his long legs, his narrow waist, his perfect ass. He wore a green silk shirt underneath, open at the neck by a few more buttons than was entirely appropriate. And of course- the emeralds.

He wasn’t in the habit of wearing the necklace daily, but this was a _ball._ After he was finished he took a long moment to admire himself in the mirror, striking a pose and smirking at his reflection. He looked fantastic.

He came down the stairs to meet Berenger, already in his suit as he loitered aimlessly in the entrance hall. Berenger looked up from adjusting his cuff links and abruptly froze. His cheeks flushed pink and Ancel reveled in the moment, the way Berenger ran his eyes almost helplessly down Ancel’s body.

“Well?” Ancel asked, pausing on the landing and spreading his arms in a _ta-da!_ gesture. “How’s this?”

“You look-” Berenger started before abruptly closing his mouth. He cleared his throat. “Good,” was all he managed, his voice a bit strangled.

Ancel laughed and descended the rest of the way, pausing in front of Berenger who was resolutely looking past his shoulder rather than at him. He looked rather good in his black suit and crisp white shirt, though his tie was a murky blue that did him no favors.

“This won’t do,” Ancel said, reaching out to pull the knot loose.

“Why not?” Berenger asked, too surprised to stop him. Or perhaps still a bit too dumbstruck to protest.

“I told you I’d take care of the tie,” Ancel said, tossing the old one unceremoniously onto the side table and reaching into his pocket for the tie that he’d selected- green silk, to match his shirt. He draped it around Berenger’s neck, purposefully not meeting his eyes as he tied the careful knot. The fact that Berenger was letting him instead of stepping away towards the entryway mirror to do it himself had to mean something, didn’t it?

Ancel couldn’t help lingering once he’d finished, adjusting the knot with the utmost concentration just so he could spend a moment longer feeling the smooth linen of Berenger’s shirt against the backs of his fingers, the heat of Berenger’s body underneath.

“Thank you,” Berenger said quietly and Ancel forced himself to pull away and flash him a smile.

“Which car are we taking?” Ancel asked, following Berenger out the front door only to stop when he saw the car idling in front of the house. It was a _limo._ An honest to god _limousine._ “Oh my god. Is that for us?”

“Yes,” Berenger said simply, setting his hand on Ancel’s lower back to lead him over. “As you said- it is a ball.”

Ancel laughed. Maybe it was ridiculous. It was definitely ridiculous. But Berenger held the door open for him and he slid inside, looking around the well furnished interior. Berenger got in after him and closed the door, and then the car was pulling away.

Ancel had never been in a _limo_ before. This one had champagne, and tiny bottles of wine, and fancy chocolates.

“I’m starting to regret the white suit,” he said as he eyed the gold box filled with individually decorated truffles.

“Don’t worry,” Berenger said easily, “they’ll be there on the way back, too.”

Somehow Ancel managed to resist the chocolates until the limo came to a stop. Berenger helped him out like a perfect gentleman and for a moment Ancel felt frozen as he stared up at the mansion before them.

He’d recently vacationed at an actual castle, so he wasn’t as starstruck as he might have been otherwise. Still- this was a whole new level of luxury. A wide red carpet led up to the front doors and the path was lined with flowering rose bushes. Were roses even in season?

“I know,” Berenger said with faint disapproval. “It’s ostentatious.”

“It’s beautiful,” Ancel breathed out.

“That too, I suppose,” Berenger said and offered his arm. 

Ancel felt like he was some sort of movie star as they walked up the path and inside to a brightly lit foyer. There were no electric lights- the only illumination came from flickering candles set into antique chandeliers. The air smelled of roses and the walls sparkled with countless decorative gold tiles cut into elaborate patterns.

As they walked into the ballroom a young man in a tux offered to take their coats while another held out a tray of champagne flutes. There was a string quartet at the far end of the room next to banquet tables leaden with pretty little finger foods. In the center was a dance floor full of twirling couples, moving elegantly like flowers floating down a quiet stream.

“It really is a ball,” Ancel whispered. He realized he was still clutching Berenger’s arm and forced himself to ease up even though he couldn’t quite bear to let go.

“Jean!” a man cried out, weaving through the crowd towards them.

Berenger ignored him until Ancel squeezed his arm and discreetly cleared his throat. _“Jean,”_ he said pointedly, raising his eyebrows.

“Ah,” Berenger murmured, turning to face the man. His expression flickered toward a grimace before he wiped it away into blankness.

“Jean, you dark horse!” the man said. “You never come to these things, and now here you are with the loveliest young thing in the room! What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Antoine,” Ancel said with a smile. “Antoine Devereux.” He held out his hand- palm down and wrist limp like he was the Queen and was expecting him to kiss it. The man seemed absolutely delighted, bowing over Ancel’s hand and doing just that.

“Droet,” the man said. “What a pleasure.” He turned back to Berenger with a put-on frown. “You’ve never mentioned a lover- how dare you keep this charming young man hidden away?”

“He’s not-” Berenger started.

“I’m his muse,” Ancel interrupted with an airy laugh, leaning into Berenger’s side.

“His muse?” Droet asked with interest.

“Oh yes,” Ancel said, dropping his tone conspiratorially. “Do you know the scene between Savin and Raoul in the carriage? Well-” he paused to make a show of checking that no one was eavesdropping, “-that was us last spring. But of course not in a carriage, in the porsche!”

“You dog!” Droet said to Berenger with a shocked gasp. “Are you really pulling in enough royalties for a porsche?”

Berenger smiled thinly. “Talking money at a party is so gauche, wouldn’t you say?”

“Of course,” Droet said, looking a little tense now too. “You wouldn’t happen to know if your agent is taking on new clients, would you? Asking for a friend, of course.”

“Of course,” Berenger said, his mood quickly souring.

“Oh, do you hear that?” Ancel cut in, making a show of tilting his head to listen to the waltz the string quartet was playing. “They’re playing my favorite song. Won’t you join me, darling?”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Droet said and thankfully didn’t follow as Ancel pulled Berenger over to the dance floor.

“You do know how to waltz, don’t you?” Ancel whispered. If the answer was no he could probably fake it for the both of them, but he’d rather not get his new heels scuffed up by Berenger stepping on his feet. “That was part of your Lordly education wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Berenger said, easily taking the lead.

Ancel smiled in relief and followed, the two of them blending in with the other dancing couples.

“You shouldn’t…” Berenger started only to trail off with a grimace, looking past Ancel rather than at him. “That is to say- you shouldn’t tell people we’re. That we’re-” He cleared his throat. _“Involved.”_

“It’s just a bit of fun,” Ancel said, trying not to be too put off. Was the idea that they were together really so horrible? Berenger liked him, didn’t he? “No one knows who I am. Or who you are, for that matter. And it got us away from Droet, didn’t it?”

“They’ll be gossiping about this for years,” Berenger muttered.

“So?” Ancel asked. “Let them gossip. Why, are you ashamed?”

“Yes,” Berenger said and Ancel’s heart dropped into his stomach.

Of course he was. How could he have thought differently? Berenger was some rich fancy Lord who had everything. What would he possibly want with some guttersnipe like Ancel? He nearly missed a step but Berenger pulled him a little closer, keeping their rhythm steady.

“No,” Berenger said, probably in response to the devastation written all over Ancel’s face.

“It’s fine,” Ancel muttered, looking down so Berenger wouldn’t see him blinking back tears. The last thing he needed right now was to make a scene or worse- ruin his make up.

 _“No,”_ Berenger said. “I only meant- look at us. We’re a mismatched set. What could someone like you see in someone like me?”

Ancel really did miss a step at that, a fact that Berenger skillfully covered as he took them into a spin.

“Everyone looks at us and sees an old fart preying on a beautiful young man.”

“Oh,” Ancel said with a startled laugh, the weight easing off his heart as though it had never been. “Oh, I see now. You’re crazy.”

“Am I?” Berenger asked.

Ancel looked into his eyes and saw only sincere confusion. Berenger thought he was _old._ That he had nothing to offer. But he was warm and handsome and kind. He had _everything_ to offer that anyone could ever dream of.

“Obviously they’ll think I’m just using you for your money,” Ancel said matter of factly, still smiling.

“I see,” Berenger said dryly, not looking quite so upset as before. “As long as it’s just that, then.”

* * *

They danced a few more songs before heading over to the buffet tables. They drank wine and ate fancy canapés, periodically being accosted by other writers and agents and publishers. Everyone was eager to talk to Berenger, seeing as how he didn’t generally attend such events. At least three agents tried to poach him and several writers tried to pump him for ideas for their own manuscripts.

Berenger handled them all with a restrained sort of grace, Ancel stepping in to change the subject whenever Berenger started to get tense and annoyed. When all else failed, Ancel dragged him off to dance a few songs, a pleasure in itself.

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the strange magical atmosphere of the evening itself. Slowly, Berenger grew more comfortable with their ruse- no longer tensing or flinching away when Ancel pressed close to him. Sometimes he even played along a bit, setting his hand on Ancel’s lower back or elbow to keep him close. Once, when a particularly drunk and leering guest wouldn’t stop asking Ancel to dance, he set his hand on Ancel’s hip and leaned in to whisper into his ear. He’d whispered a rude retort that had made Ancel laugh, but to an outsider it would have looked like a flirtation from a lover.

As the night grew later the guests got drunker and rowdier, the atmosphere more festive. Ancel was having the time of his life when a giant older Akielon man walked towards them with a wide smile on his face.

“You didn’t say you were coming!” the Akielon said, his Veretian heavily accented.

“Makedon,” Berenger greeted him with a small nod. “My agent,” he explained to Ancel.

“Come, let’s talk,” Makedon said, patting Berenger on the back hard enough that he stumbled forward half a step. “You must be going mad by now from the crowd in here. There’s a garden out back, we can share a cigar.”

Berenger turned to Ancel, raising his eyebrows as if asking for permission. Ancel simply smiled and nodded, letting Berenger lead him out of the ballroom after Makedon.

The fresh air and relative quiet was a shock as they stepped outside onto a terrace and followed Makedon down well manicured garden paths lined with blooming roses.

Makedon was talking about something that Ancel didn’t pay attention to, too focused on not tripping on the rough stone paths as he clutched Berenger’s arm for balance. And then they were moving off the path and headed up a grassy knoll dominated by a single sprawling tree at its apex.

Ancel bit his lip in concentration as he navigated the dewy grass, but at the first step the heel of his stiletto sank into the ground and he overbalanced with an ungainly yelp. He started to fall only for Berenger to grab him around the waist and pull him close to steady him.

“Berry! You’ll let your erastís sully his shoes?” Makedon asked with a booming laugh. “I thought you were better than that!”

“Apologies,” Berenger said before bending to lift Ancel into his arms, bridal style.

Ancel laughed, surprised and delighted, and wrapped his arms around Berenger’s shoulders as he carried him the rest of the way up the hill. Ancel didn’t even bother trying not to read into it, choosing instead to rest his head on Berenger’s shoulder and inhale the scent of his cologne- spicy and sweet.

At the top of the hill Berenger set him on his feet again while Makedon sat unceremoniously on the ground with his back to the tree. He pulled out a flask and took a deep swig while Ancel skeptically eyed the damp grass and the muddy ground. He was wearing a _white suit._ If he’d known they were going camping he would have stayed in the banquet hall.

Berenger must have seen the disgruntled look on his face because he laughed and took off his jacket, laying it out over the grass and sitting on top of it, careful to leave plenty of room.

“You can’t treat your clothes like this,” Ancel said, sitting too.

“I’ll get it dry cleaned,” Berenger said easily. He held out his hand and Makedon passed him the flask. While he took a swig Makedon trimmed two cigars. “You’re still drinking this swill?”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Makedon said, lighting one cigar and handing the other over.

Ancel took the flask from Berenger and took a sip only to grimace. “This is that awful stuff Auguste had in Aquitart.”

“Griva,” Berenger said with a laugh. “It’s horrible.”

“That griva is an ancient family recipe,” Makedon said with a pout that looked comical on his rugged face.

“Oh, in that case,” Ancel said, taking a bigger swig. He was already tipsy but the strong liquor spread like liquid heat through his body. “Still horrible.” He giggled and handed it back to Makedon.

Berenger puffed on his cigar and let out the smoke in a thick stream. It smelled strong but not unpleasant, with notes of coffee and chocolate underneath, more sweet than bitter.

“I can’t be too angry,” Makedon said to Ancel. “Not now you’ve lured the bear out of his den.”

“Den, honestly,” Berenger muttered.

“I’m trying to pay your erastís a compliment!” Makedon protested. 

There it was- that word again. Ancel didn’t know what it meant but it made Berenger blush. He reached out and pulled the cigar from his slack fingers, bringing it to his own mouth. It felt oddly illicit, almost like a kiss. Berenger watched as Ancel took a drag, his gaze focused on something below his eyes- his lips wrapped around the cigar.

A buzzing dizziness made Ancel’s head spin as he pursed his lips and exhaled the smoke. He handed the cigar back and rested his head on Berenger’s shoulder with a sigh. 

Makedon kept talking, something about marketing and deadlines, Berenger’s next book. Ancel let the words drift past him, enjoying the heat of Berenger’s body next to his, Berenger’s arm wrapped casually around his waist.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat outside, but eventually Berenger shifted and Ancel raised his head, blinking slowly. Makedon stood with a groan and brushed the dirt off his clothes.

“It’s late,” Berenger murmured, brushing a loose lock of hair out of Ancel’s face. “We’d better go.”

“Alright,” Ancel said with a sleepy smile.

Berenger stood first and helped him up before bending to take his jacket, shaking it out before draping it over his arm. “Do you want me to carry you again?”

“Look,” Makedon said. He’d wandered off a ways but now he stood looking back at them. “There’s stairs.”

“Oh,” Ancel said with a laugh, trying not to be too disappointed at the missed opportunity. Berenger still stayed close as they made their way back through the gardens and towards the entrance of the manor, where their limo was waiting for them.

Makedon bid them a warm goodbye and Ancel slipped into the limo and sprawled out on one of the long seats, Berenger following to sit more properly across from him.

“Are you alright?” Berenger asked as the limo started moving.

“I’m wonderful,” Ancel said. “And drunk. And wonderful. I can’t believe you didn’t want to go.”

“Well,” Berenger said with a laugh. “It’s not usually this fun.”

“So you had fun?” Ancel asked, turning his head to look at him. At some point Berenger had loosened his tie. It made him look oddly debauched in the dim lighting of the streetlights shining through the tinted windows.

“Yes,” Berenger said, his voice low.

He had no right to be so attractive. It was incredibly unfair.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck in a limo,” Ancel blurted out, which was only marginally better than what he’d been thinking- _please fuck me in this limo._

Berenger laughed. “It’s not that great. Cramped. The driver gets very annoyed.”

“No,” Ancel said incredulously. “You didn’t.”

Berenger draped his arm over the back of the seat and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh my god,” Ancel whispered. “You did. When?”

“Senior prom,” Berenger answered easily.

“Wait,” Ancel said. “You would have been eighteen.”

“Yes.”

“But-” Ancel blinked. “Laurent said you had your first boyfriend at nineteen.”

“Did he,” Berenger said, still smiling.

“He said you didn’t date,” Ancel said, pointing his finger accusingly. “And- and Auguste said you didn’t date.”

Berenger laughed and pushed his hair back from his face, closing his eyes. “Did you ever consider that the brothers De Vere might not be experts on my love life?”

Ancel could only stare at that, his world crashing down on him. All this time, he thought that Berenger had been sitting around demurely in his office writing his pornography. And instead he- he- _dated._

“Is it really a date if you share a few drinks and then move it immediately to the bedroom?” Berenger mused.

Correction. Berenger _fucked._

“Who said you were allowed to fuck?” Ancel demanded.

“Not to worry, I have a permit.” Berenger made a show of patting down his pockets. “Oh no, I must have left it in my other suit.”

Ancel couldn’t help a laugh, lying back down and throwing his arm over his face to cover his eyes and hopefully his blush. He couldn’t tell if this was a positive development or not and he was too drunk to figure it out.

By the time the car stopped he’d decided to be tentatively hopeful. Berenger fucked. That meant he’d be willing to fuck Ancel… right?

Berenger helped him out of the limo and led the way inside, pausing to take off his shoes in the entrance hall and hang his keys on the hook. Ancel tried and failed to stifle a yawn and Berenger smiled, offering his arm and walking him up the stairs. He paused on the second floor landing. Ancel didn’t let go of his arm, squeezing instead.

“I had a good night,” Ancel said. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Berenger said.

Ancel didn’t know where the courage came from but he stepped a little closer, looking up into Berenger’s eyes. “It doesn’t have to end,” he said. “Not yet.”

Berenger blinked, his expression uncertain. But when Ancel licked his lips Berenger’s eyes drifted down to watch, his own lips parting around a soft inhale.

“You could invite me upstairs,” Ancel murmured. “We could pretend that I’m your muse for just a little longer.”

Berenger swallowed, hard, and forced himself to look back up into Ancel’s eyes. They were standing so close together- Ancel only needed to take a half step closer, tilt his face up-

“It’s late,” Berenger said abruptly, sounding almost apologetic as he retreated a few steps. “We should- we-” he stopped. It looked like there was something more he wanted to say, but then he gave a small shake of his head and cleared his throat. “Good night, Ancel.”

Ancel watched him go, defeated but not discouraged. As far as rejections went, that had been revealingly noncommittal. 


	21. a brief aside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something a little different! Now that Berenger has revealed a bit of his backstory, this is the perfect time for a Berenger POV prologue chapter, right?
> 
> Don't worry, we'll be returning to your regularly scheduled programming next week :)

* * *

Berenger came awake to a pounding headache and winced, rubbing his temples, before he realized the pounding wasn’t just inside his head. There was someone vigorously knocking on the door.

“Fuck,” muttered the Akielon in his bed whose name he couldn’t quite remember. His arm was a heavy weight over Berenger’s chest, his skin hot and sweaty where they were pressed together.

The knocking came again and Berenger forced himself to sit up while the Akielon grumbled and curled up on his side, covering his head with a pillow.

Berenger squinted at the clock while he pulled on last night’s shirt and jeans. It was barely seven in the morning. On a Saturday. What the hell.

 _“What,”_ he demanded as he yanked open the front door.

There was a rather unimpressed woman on the other side in a plain gray suit. She narrowed her eyes as she took in his disheveled appearance.

“Mr. Berenger De Varenne?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “What do you want?”

“You’re listed as next of kin for Alfonse De Varenne.”

Berenger’s blood ran cold. For a second he couldn’t breathe. The woman continued staring at him impassively as his whole world tilted on its axis.

“I-” he started only to break off. “I- Clarisse. My sister, Clarisse. What’s happened? Is she-”

“We haven’t been able to get in contact with her,” the woman said.

“But-” Berenger started again. He didn’t understand what was happening. “But her husband-”

“Mr. Phillipe De Varenne is deceased.”

Berenger leaned heavily against the door frame as he tried to take a deep breath. He felt like his knees were about to give out. Maybe this was just some sort of hallucination brought on by too many shots of griva the night before. This couldn’t be happening.

The woman was still talking but it sounded like nothing more than buzzing static until a phrase broke through the haze-

“...won’t take custody of him, we’ll arrange for a placement at a foster home until-”

 _“What?”_ Berenger asked sharply.

The woman sighed, clearly annoyed. “I _said,”_ she started, enunciating each word like she thought he was an idiot, “if you refuse to take custody of Alfonse De Varenne, we’ll arrange for a placement at a foster home-”

“Like hell,” Berenger snarled. “He’s not going to some foster home. Where is he?”

“In the car with my partner,” the woman said. “I thought it wise he not be present for this conversation, in the event that you refused custody.”

“Get him,” Berenger said. “He should be with family.”

“Hm,” the woman said disdainfully, looking him up and down. “Very well. I suggest you take a moment to get yourself in order.”

She left and Berenger closed the door, turning back to look at his tiny apartment. It was a mess, not a place fit for a child. How old was Alfonse now, anyway? Last time Berenger had seen him he’d been a baby still in diapers. Did Alfonse even know who he was?

He didn’t think about what happened to Phillipe, what might have happened to Clarisse. He busied himself with throwing out trash and empty liquor bottles, shoving books haphazardly onto shelves and trying to tidy the place up as best as he could. He’d done a decent job of it by the time there was another knock.

He threw the door open once more. The woman was back, and now there was a tiny sandy-haired boy standing beside her. He was sullen and pale, his eyes rimmed with red. He was wearing bright blue overalls on top of a gray long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of worn sneakers. 

“Mr. De Varenne,” the woman said with a small nod and gently pushed the boy in the back. He took an uncertain step closer. “Our office will be in touch with any further information.” And with that, she just- left.

Alfonse looked after her in alarm but made no move to follow. God, he was so _small._ Was he three? Four? Berenger didn’t know.

He swallowed and took a deep breath. It felt wrong to be looming over the boy so he knelt on one knee, trying to school his expression into something reassuring. “Hello Alfonse,” he said quietly.

Alfonse didn’t say anything, just stared at him with an expression like fear in his eyes.

“I’m your uncle Berenger. Do you remember me? I’m your maman’s brother.” He tried for a smile but wasn’t sure what it looked like over his face. He hadn’t shaved in two days and he was wearing yesterday’s clothes. He was _not_ fit to be taking care of a child, but what else could he do? There was no way he was leaving Clarisse’s boy with strangers. “Last time I saw you, you were this big.” He raised his hands to show him.

Alfonse was still hesitating in the doorway, but at least he seemed a bit less scared.

“Why don’t you come inside,” Berenger said. “Are you hungry? I’ll make you some breakfast.”

Alfonse hesitated a moment longer but then he took another tiny step forward, fully into the apartment.

“Okay,” Berenger said, mostly to himself, and moved to close the door. He held out his hand to the boy. Alfonse stared at it for a long moment before reaching out to tentatively take it. Berenger tried for another smile but it felt like a farce so he stopped. They walked the few steps to the kitchen counter and Berenger lifted the boy up to sit on a stool before going to look through the fridge.

The milk was expired and so was the bacon. He had one egg left and a few packets of mustard. The fridge was otherwise empty except for a few dubious containers of left-overs. He vaguely remembered buying a package of frozen waffles some time after moving in, but the only thing in the freezer was a half empty bottle of tequila. Fuck.

“Who’s the kid?”

Double fuck.

Berenger turned to see the Akielon walking out of his bedroom, thankfully fully dressed. Alfonse was staring at him like a cornered fawn, his chin trembling faintly.

“I think you should go,” Berenger said.

The Akielon frowned, looking between Alfonse and Berenger slowly. “Right,” he said at last. “So- how long is this… _thing…_ going to last? Because I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”

“I’ll call you,” Berenger lied. He didn’t have the Akielon’s phone number and had no desire for a repeat performance of the man’s clumsy attempts at fucking.

“Sure,” the Akielon said with a shrug and finally, thankfully, left.

Berenger turned his attention back to Alfonse, who’d wrapped his arms around himself and was staring down at the counter. Right. Fuck.

“Why don’t we go out somewhere for breakfast instead,” Berenger said decisively. “What do you think?”

There was no response. Surely the boy was old enough to talk?

“I'm going to put on some fresh clothes, alright? I'll be right back.”

Alfonse didn't say anything and Berenger hurried to get dressed. He paused before leaving the bedroom, looking frantically through the closet. It might be chilly outside, too chilly for Alfonse in just the overalls and shirt. All of Berenger’s clothes would swamp him, but surely he had _something-_

Eventually he found a wool jacket that one of his hookups had left behind a few weeks ago. It still smelled faintly of the young man’s perfume, sweet and musky. But it was warm and hopefully small enough that it wouldn’t completely swallow Alfonse.

The boy was still sitting on the stool and Berenger helped him down and into the jacket. It almost dragged on the ground, but it was the best he could do at the moment. He offered his hand again and Alfonse took it.

They left without speaking, walking slowly down the sidewalk together. The diner Berenger frequented was only a few blocks away and soon enough they were settled in a corner booth looking at a pair of menus. They were laminated and had bright photos of food on them. Alfonse chewed on his thumbnail as he stared.

It didn’t take long for a smiling waitress to come over. “You’re in early today, Professor.”

“Hello Ellie,” Berenger said with a small wince.

“Who’s this handsome young gentleman?” she asked, looking at Alfonse curiously. “I didn’t know you had a son.”

“Nephew,” Berenger said. Alfonse shifted beside him, moving closer to half hide behind Berenger’s arm. “I’ll just have coffee and some toast. Alfonse? What would you like?”

Alfonse bit his lip and stared down at the menu. 

“You can get anything you want,” Berenger said as gently as he could. He watched Alfonse closely but he didn’t say anything or move to point at any of the pictures. His eyes were darting between the strawberry french toast and the chocolate chip pancakes, though, so that’s what Berenger ordered. Along with an omelette and some fruit salad, for good measure. Vitamins and all that. Surely a growing boy needed vitamins.

Ellie raised her eyebrow at the quantity of food but didn’t protest, jotting everything down dutifully before leaving.

While they waited Berenger watched the boy, still sitting pale and quiet beside him. He had no idea what to do or say. Alfonse seemed lost in another world, staring off into the distance. His hair was a mess of fluff drifting into his eyes. Berenger reached out to brush it back from his forehead.

Alfonse looked up at him at that, blinking slowly. His hair was the same color as his father’s but his eyes- his eyes were brown. He had the same eyes as Clarisse, as Berenger, as their late mother. God, where was Clarisse?

She didn’t talk about her work. She was in some classified army unit that went undercover for weeks at a time, completely unreachable. If she’d been killed in action Berenger might not know for months. Maybe not ever.

He felt tears rising to his own eyes at that and had to take a few deep breaths. Clarisse was a cast iron bitch. She wasn’t going to be taken down by some rogue Vaskians, or anything else. Her unit was probably under radio silence. She’d probably show up any minute now like a storm rolling in, raising hell and demanding to see her son.

Ellie returned with coffee and Berenger managed to thank her. Alfonse looked back down to the table and reached for the sugar packets, stacking them as high as he could with a look of intense concentration on his tiny face. Berenger watched and tried not to think of anything at all.

When the food came Berenger didn’t have to coax Alfonse to eat. He had perfect manners as he devoured an unholy amount of pancakes and french toast. He had a bit of the fruit salad too, and by the time the check came he was looking decidedly drowsy.

On the walk back to Berenger’s apartment Alfonse dragged his feet, staring at the ground instead of at anything around them, so Berenger stopped and took a knee before him.

“Are you tired?” he asked as gently as he could. Alfonse stared back at him silently. “If you’re tired I can carry you.” He held out his arms tentatively like he was offering a hug. Alfonse stared a moment longer before moving closer and wrapping his arms around Berenger’s neck. “Okay,” Berenger said, picking him up and holding him close.

He was struck all over again by how tiny Alfonse was, how light. Alfonse hid his face against Berenger’s shoulder. He was trembling a little so Berenger rubbed his back as he walked. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “Everything’s alright.”

Nothing was alright. Alfonse’s father was dead. And maybe Clarisse-

Berenger swallowed. He wasn’t thinking about Clarisse. He was thinking about getting them back to the apartment. They could watch a movie or something. Alfonse could take a nap. Did boys his age nap?

Regardless, Berenger would figure something out.

When they got back Berenger got them settled on the couch and turned on the TV.

“I don’t have any kids movies,” he said awkwardly, flipping through the channels. It was all daytime nonsense, talk shows and reality drivel. Eventually he came to some bright cartoon about an unlikely-colored dog and paused uncertainly. He turned to Alfonse sitting beside him.

The boy was peering at the screen but there was something unfocused in his gaze, like he was looking through it rather than at it. Berenger supposed that for the moment it was good enough. Alfonse was still wearing the jacket and sitting with his arms wrapped around himself, like he was holding himself together.

Tentatively Berenger reached out and wrapped an arm around him, careful to pay attention for any signs that his touch was unwanted. Alfonse only snuggled closer, leaning against Berenger’s side, so he supposed this was alright.

The next hour or so passed slowly. They watched nonsense cartoons until Berenger noticed that Alfonse had fallen asleep and then he carefully extricated himself and left the boy on the couch while he went to the bedroom.

It still smelled of sweat and sex, stuffy and sour. There was a used condom on the floor and Berenger wrinkled his nose before throwing it away. He changed the sheets and opened the window to air out the room. He cleaned the bathroom and put out fresh towels, and through it all he felt like he was in some sort of strange dream.

Surely any moment now he’d wake up and find himself in the arms of some stranger, Clarisse and Phillipe and Alfonse all safe and sound and miles and miles away.

Eventually he ran out of things to busy himself with and sat down heavily on the bed. He didn’t know what to do. What was he supposed to do?

He startled when his phone rang. He’d left it behind on the nightstand when the social services woman had first shown up. Berenger snatched it up and felt a wave of relief when he saw the caller ID.

“Parsins,” he gasped into the receiver. Parsins would know what to do. He always knew what to do.

 _“Lord Berenger,”_ Parsins said, his voice frantic, _“I’ve been calling all morning-”_

“Sorry,” Berenger said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I- I forgot my phone, and-”

 _“-just got news,”_ Parsins was saying. He’d kept talking while Berenger had been trying to explain himself. _“Master Phillipe is dead, and no one will tell me what’s happened to the young Master, where they’ve taken him-”_

“Parsins,” Berenger interrupted firmly. “He’s with me. Alfonse is here with me.”

For a moment there was silence, and then Parsins let out a relieved exhale of air. _“With- with you.”_

“Yes,” Berenger said. “They brought him here this morning. I- I don’t-” he paused, glancing over at the closed bedroom door. He lowered his voice and cupped his hand around the phone, almost whispering. “Parsins, he- he’s not right. He’s not speaking. He was speaking, wasn’t he? I- I don’t know what to do, and- and Clarisse-” His voice cracked on her name and he stopped, breathing harshly as he screwed his eyes shut.

 _“I’ll be there in two days,”_ Parsins said firmly.

“Oh thank god,” Berenger breathed out. “I- what am I supposed to do until then? I don’t know what to do.”

 _“Keep him alive,”_ Parsins said, like it was that simple. _“I’ll be there in two days.”_

“Alright,” Berenger said, but Parsins had already hung up. “Alright,” Berenger repeated to himself. Parsins was coming. He’d know what to do.

Berenger stood and went to open the door, pausing as he watched Alfonse napping on the couch. He was curled in on himself. Even asleep, he looked distraught. There was a faint crease between his eyebrows and a frown on his lips.

Berenger moved to carefully sit beside him, putting a hand on his back in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Alfonse made a quiet sleepy sound and moved a little closer, the frown softening. Alright, then.

So far it seemed that touch was good. Alfonse never flinched from him, only snuggled closer. So that must be alright. Berenger kept one hand on his back while doing internet searches on his phone.

_How tall is a four year old?_

_What do children eat?_

_When do kids start talking?_

By the end of the hour he was pretty sure he was on some government watch list and yet he still felt completely out of his depth.

He didn’t search what to do about a kid with dead parents, he knew that much from his own experience. His mother had passed when he’d been about ten and he still remembered all the therapy appointments his father had dragged him to. He’d hated it, had resented strangers demanding he talk about his _feelings._ He’d sat in sullen silence instead, until eventually his father had let him stop going.

When his father died a few years later, Clarisse didn’t make him go back.

Alfonse woke up around lunch time and Berenger ordered pizza- one cheese, one pepperoni. Alfonse ate it readily enough and they watched more cartoons. Or rather- Alfonse watched cartoons and Berenger watched Alfonse.

Surely all this TV wasn’t good for him? Surely kids needed… books, or toys, or- or-

Berenger stood and Alfonse turned to him in alarm. “I’m not going anywhere,” Berenger said. “Just to the bedroom.” He pointed at the door but Alfonse didn’t seem any less nervous. “I’ll leave the door open. I’ll be right back. Okay?”

After a long moment Alfonse frowned but nodded.

“Okay,” Berenger said, going into his bedroom. He left the door open, just like he said he would, as he searched through his closet. Finally he found a box at the back, and inside a stuffed pink rabbit. It was holding a stuffed red heart between its paws. There was an inscription embroidered on the heart in curling white thread that read- _I love cock._

Clarisse had given it to him as a joke after he’d come out to her when he was sixteen.

He didn’t know if Alfonse could read yet. Even if he couldn’t- Berenger couldn’t give him a toy with the word _cock_ on it. Luckily the heart was only stitched on with a few loose threads and Berenger cut them easily with his straight razor. He stuffed the heart back in the box and took the rabbit out to the living room, holding the toy behind his back.

Alfonse watched warily and Berenger tried for a smile.

“I’ve got a gift for you,” he said and showed him the rabbit.

Alfonse stared at it, not moving to take the toy. Berenger sat beside him, feeling silly as he moved one of the rabbit’s paws in a wave. He stopped feeling silly when Alfonse’s lips quirked up so faintly he nearly missed it. But his eyes were bright and he was watching the rabbit with interest.

“Your maman gave him to me,” Berenger continued. “I think she’d want you to have him, to watch over you.”

Alfonse reached out a tentative finger to poke the soft fluff of the rabbit’s paw. Berenger moved it to poke him back and finally Alfonse smiled. He reached out for the toy and wrapped his arms around it. It was nearly as big as he was.

“He likes you,” Berenger said, receiving another smile. “What do you want to name him?”

Alfonse shrugged, looking down at the rabbit in his lap and playing with its ears, its whiskers. Of course it was too much to hope that a toy might get him talking. But this was still an improvement.

“That’s good,” Berenger said, brushing the hair back from Alfonse’s forehead once more. It had become a mess again after his nap. “You should give it a lot of thought,” Berenger continued. “Names are very important. I know you’ll give him a good one.”

They watched more cartoons until dinner time, when Berenger heated up some leftover pizza. Finally it was past nine and Alfonse was nodding off again.

Bed time, for sure. Berenger had vague memories of being a kid, when bedtime had always meant bath time. Was Alfonse old enough to bathe himself? He’d been going to the bathroom by himself after the first time that Berenger had awkwardly asked if he needed any help and received a blank stare and a firmly shut door in return. Maybe Alfonse could wash himself too. Or maybe he’d drown in the tub.

Bathtime was overrated, anyway. It seemed safer to wait for Parsins for that sort of thing, surely Alfonse would survive in the meantime.

Berenger gave him one of his old t-shirts to sleep in and tossed his clothes into the combined washer dryer in the bathroom before tucking him in. He looked so tiny in the middle of the giant bed. Berenger tucked the bunny in beside him and Alfonse hugged it close, staring at Berenger expectantly.

Berenger reached out and stroked his hair, he seemed to like that. “Uh,” he started uncertainly. “Would you like to hear a bedtime story?”

Alfonse nodded. Berenger settled on the edge of the bed with his back to the headboard and his hand still stroking Alfonse’s hair. He racked his brain for a story, settling on a set of Akielon myths he’d written his dissertation about. He picked one about a brave captain and a sea serpent, cutting out all the particularly violent or scary bits. Alfonse was asleep halfway through so Berenger carefully shut off the lights and went back out into the living room with a pillow and blanket for himself, getting set up on the couch.

He was exhausted after waking up so early, after a day full of worry and uncertainty. It didn’t take long for him to drift off, only to jerk back into wakefulness some time later.

It was dark in the room. There was a shadow standing over him.

“Fuck!” Berenger burst out, flinching.

Alfonse- because of course it was Alfonse- flinched too, his eyes wide. He was standing by the couch, hugging the rabbit and chewing on his lower lip. His cheeks were glistening in the moonlight, wet.

“Oh shit,” Berenger said, only to wince. “I mean- I’m sorry. I’m just- I was startled, that’s all.” He sat up fully and ran a hand through his hair. Alfonse sniffled. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Alfonse looked down and shrugged, tightening his arms around the rabbit.

“Okay,” Berenger said quietly. “Let’s get you tucked back in, okay?”

He stood and picked Alfonse up, taking him back to bed. He tucked Alfonse in and couldn’t help yawning as he turned to leave. There was a tug on his shirt and he looked back to see Alfonse had grabbed hold of him, his knuckles white in the moonlight. He made a quiet sound almost like a whimper and Berenger’s heart broke.

“You want me to stay?” he asked, and waited patiently for Alfonse to nod. “Okay.”

Berenger laid down, and when Alfonse shifted closer it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to wrap an arm around him, tucking the boy in safe against him.

“Do you want to talk about your dream?” Berenger asked quietly.

Of course, it was too much to hope for that to work. Alfonse just shook his head and buried his face in the stuffed rabbit. He was trembling despite the warm blanket. He sniffled, a tiny sound almost like a hiccup. Berenger had a feeling he was crying and had no idea what more he could do.

“Okay, then,” he whispered, blinking back his own tears. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He wasn’t sure how long Alfonse cried, in the darkness time seemed to pass slower than it did during the day. Eventually he stopped, tired, his breathing evening out into something even and untroubled. Berenger lay awake for a long time after, counting his breaths as he tried not to think about anything else.

* * *

Alfonse was groggy in the morning and Berenger wasn’t much better off. They still got up around seven and Berenger took a quick shower before getting them both presentable and out the door.

Parsins, bless him, had sent over a lengthy shopping list of food and clothes and toys and various other things. The feeling of purpose was a welcome change to the previous day, but before they could get started on errands they needed breakfast.

Berenger took them back to the diner and ordered another feast for the two of them. Afterwards they headed to the store, Alfonse riding in the cart while Berenger picked out groceries and toiletries. There was a small clothes section where he got Alfonse some socks and underwear, pants and a new jacket. He didn’t seem interested in any of the toys- he’d brought the pink rabbit with him to the diner and hadn’t let go of it since.

Berenger couldn't help blanching at the register as he watched the price going up and up. Between rent and food and probably too-frequent trips to the bar, he’d been barely getting by on his meager adjunct professor salary and what little he managed to bring in with his short stories. He didn’t have an extra few hundred sol laying around in the event of a nephew-related emergency. The cashier finished and looked up at him expectantly.

Berenger hesitantly reached for the card forgotten at the back of his wallet, the one Clarisse had sent him ages ago for the account she’d set up with his trust fund. The account he’d petulantly refused to touch ever since he’d found out that his father had left him nothing in his will.

He couldn’t help stealing a glance at Alfonse, still sitting in the cart and staring intently at his stuffed bunny. And then Berenger breathed out harshly, and swallowed his pride, and paid.

It only stung for a moment, but then it was over and they were heading back home. Alfonse helped put away groceries before running off to change into his new clothes. Pink velcro sneakers, new jeans, a jacket with a picture of a unicorn printed on the back in a rainbow of colors.

And somehow, even after all that, it wasn’t even lunch time and Berenger had no idea what to do next. They could watch more cartoons, maybe, but he had a feeling it would do Alfonse good to keep busy, to get some fresh air. 

He shot off a quick text to Vannes. She had a niece about Alfonse’s age. She probably knew what you were supposed to do with kids.

Her answer was brief, her confusion clear even in the scant few lines she sent. She suggested a playground nearby, a library, a petting zoo. The petting zoo seemed to be the best bet, so before long Berenger found himself sitting on a bench watching as Alfonse tentatively reached out to offer a handful of hay to a tiny white goat.

“Hell,” Vannes said, sitting down beside him and handing over a paper cup of coffee. “You really weren’t kidding, huh.”

“No,” Berenger said, taking the coffee gratefully. “Thanks for this. For-” he waved at the coffee and at the small enclosure, at Alfonse who was now being talked to by a little girl in a puffy green coat. As he watched, the girl took Alfonse’s hand and led him over to a different corner of the petting zoo, pointing at a pair of gray rabbits nibbling on some greens. Alfonse smiled, his eyes lighting up. The girl said something and handed over what looked like a chunk of apple. They crouched to feed the rabbits together.

“Well, he seems to be doing alright for now,” Vannes said, taking out a flask and pouring a measure of amber liquid into her own coffee. She offered the flask to Berenger, who waved it away. “No word from…?”

“No,” Berenger said with a wince.

For a while Vannes was silent, and then she sighed and took a sip of her drink. “Listen, you’ve got classes to teach tomorrow, right? I can watch him for you if you want.”

“Thanks,” Berenger said. “Parsins should be here by tomorrow. But if something-” He had to stop and swallow nervously. His life had already taken a severe left turn. What if something happened to Parsins, too?

“Let me know,” Vannes said, uncharacteristically understanding.

They finished their coffee in silence, watching Alfonse playing with his new friend until he got tired and wandered back over. They ate lunch together at a Vaskian cafe, feasting on bowls of lamb stew and slices of hearty dark bread, still warm from the oven. Vannes ordered a tray of tiny pastries stuffed with dried fruits and nuts and then showed Alfonse how to make origami bunnies out of the blue paper napkins stacked on the table.

By the time they were finished Alfonse was nodding off and Berenger carried him home in his arms. Alfonse seemed in better spirits, though Berenger couldn’t be entirely sure. He still hadn’t said a word.

He’d gotten a few DVDs at the store and set Alfonse up on the couch wrapped up in a blanket while finishing up grading some coursework for the following week. 

He had work on monday. That thought seemed strange, unreal. How odd, that life would simply continue while he was in the middle of a crisis.

When dinner time came around Berenger got up to head to the kitchen, Alfonse wandering curiously after him.

He wasn’t much of a cook, but he could probably manage some pasta. It had to be better than more pizza, surely. He’d gotten canned croissants at the store and enlisted Alfonse’s help in rolling up the little triangles of dough and setting them out on a baking sheet he’d never used before. He was pretty sure it had already been in the apartment when he’d moved in.

Pasta was easy enough too, and so was heating up a jar of sauce in the microwave. The final result wasn’t particularly impressive, but at least the apartment smelled of butter and garlic and tomatoes. It was almost homey.

They were halfway through their meal when there was a frantic banging on the door. Berenger flinched, his heart racing. He didn’t think he could handle any more unpleasant surprises at the moment. His hands were trembling as he forced himself to stand and walk over to open it.

On the other side was-

_“Clarisse.”_

She looked rough, pale and with dark circles under her eyes. She was wearing a camo jumpsuit, torn and stained in places, and a utility belt with at least two firearms and a terrifying dagger hanging off it.

“Maman!” Alfonse cried out, sliding down from his stool and dashing across the living room towards her. She bent and scooped him up into her arms, holding him close while he clutched at her.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, her voice so hoarse it was nearly a croak. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as Alfonse burst into tears. When she opened her eyes again she stared straight at Berenger, and then wrapped an arm around him and dragged him in too.

“Clarisse,” Berenger managed, his voice breaking as he hugged her back fiercely.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, swaying in the doorway without even bothering to close the door. He thought maybe Clarisse was crying too, but when she finally pulled back to look at him, her eyes were dry. She managed a small smile.

“Since when do you cook?” she asked, jerking her chin towards the kitchen counter.

Berenger laughed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve before ushering her inside and closing the door. “Since tonight,” he said, his voice still shaky. “I didn’t do too bad, I think. Are you hungry? There’s more, if you want. Or we could order something.”

“I’m starving,” Clarisse said, sitting at Berenger’s abandoned plate and unselfconsciously picking up his fork and digging in. Alfonse was still wrapped around her, face hidden against her shoulder. Berenger reached out to smooth back his hair and the boy looked up at him, smiling.

“Thank god you’re-” Berenger started and couldn’t finish. “Just-” he swallowed, hard. “Thank god.” Before he could get too sappy he went and got more pasta and sauce for her. 

She looked like she hadn’t showered in at least a week, and if he was honest, she smelled like it too. He waited until she’d finished eating before bringing it up and she wrinkled her nose and gave a faint shrug.

“I’ll get you some fresh clothes,” Berenger said decisively. She was taller than him, but he found her a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved t shirt that should fit decently. Alfonse was still clinging to her like a spider monkey when he came back, and Clarisse didn’t make him let go as she headed for the bathroom.

Berenger cleaned up the kitchen in a daze, wondering if he should send a message to Parsins. But she’d probably spoken to him already, or else how would she have known to come here, of all places? And he had a nagging feeling that she hadn’t exactly left her unit under the best circumstances. Maybe it would be best not to send any messages confirming her location without her say so.

He ended up waiting on the couch, watching some reality show he hardly paid attention too. Eventually Clarisse returned, dressed in clean clothes and with her damp hair curling down her back. Alfonse walked beside her, holding her hand.

They settled on the couch too and Berenger got up for a blanket for the boy, tucking it around him so he was snuggled next to Clarisse, his head in her lap while she stroked his hair. Eventually he fell asleep and Berenger stood to grab the bottle of tequila and two glasses, pouring a generous amount in both before wordlessly handing one over to Clarisse.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper, and took a deep swallow without flinching.

“Do you know…” Berenger started uncertainly, looking at Alfonse’s peaceful face rather than at her. "Do you know what happened?"

Clarisse shook her head, a jerky motion that betrayed the fact that her current calm was just a facade. “Phillipe calls every week. When he didn’t call, I- I knew something was wrong. I-” she broke off and threw back the rest of her liquor before holding the glass out for a refill.

“They were in Kempt when it happened. I still don’t know the details. It was just supposed to be a quick trip, and now-”

To Berenger’s horror she sniffled. When he looked over at her it was to see her eyes were glittering in the dim lighting of the room, illuminated mostly by the T.V. they were both ignoring. He’d never seen Clarisse cry before.

“Berry, what am I supposed to do now?” she whispered.

He reached out for her and pulled her closer, careful not to disturb Alfonse. She tucked her face into his shoulder and grabbed at his shirt, her hand tight into a fist. “I’m going to be court martialed for taking off. I’ll probably end up in prison, or- or-”

“I’ll call Gus,” Berenger said firmly. “He can help. Put in a good word, or- I don’t know. He’ll make them understand. You’re not going to prison.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clarrise said, her voice breaking. “You know I’m not cut out for this. Phillipe was always the one who… he was so excited about being a dad. What am I supposed to do without him? What is _Alfonse_ supposed to do without him?”

“It’s going to be okay,” Berenger said, rubbing her back. It would have to be, somehow.

Eventually the sniffling stopped and she pulled away, sheepishly wiping at her face. She looked down at Alfonse, who’d slept through the whole conversation, and smiled. It was a tiny smile, but still hopeful.

“Maybe there’s some sort of… boarding school that will take him,” she said uncertainly. “Some sort of program. Or I could hire some tutors for him, to take care of him in Varenne. Maybe a nanny or two.”

Berenger winced at the though of it- Alfonse, left alone in the care of strangers. “Dear god, no,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Well, what do you suggest?” Clarisse asked sharply. “I can’t exactly keep him with me, can I?”

Alfonse made a quiet sleepy sound and shifted, tucking his socked feet under Berenger’s thigh. He was a sweet boy, and he’d been through so much. He deserved to be loved and taken care of. He deserved to be with family.

“He’ll stay with me,” Berenger found himself saying like it was obvious.

“With _you,”_ Clarisse repeated, raising a pointed eyebrow as she took in the tiny apartment. “Where? _Here?”_

“Not here,” Berenger said, feeling oddly defensive. “I’ll get a better place. A house. With a yard he can play in.” He might as well. He’d already tapped the trust fund, so there was no sense in holding onto misplaced pride now. With the money Clarisse had set aside for him, he could easily afford a house, a cleaning service, a nanny for when he was at work. Maybe he could even get cooking lessons so he wouldn’t be feeding Alfonse junk food all the time.

Clarisse sighed. “Berry, I love you but… you’re a mess. You don’t know the first thing about kids.”

Berenger flushed. It wasn’t exactly untrue. “I’ll figure it out,” he countered. Clarisse still seemed skeptical so he shoved her lightly in the shoulder. “Parsins will help me. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

“And you’re not going to have boy toys coming and going at all hours?” Clarisse asked dubiously.

“Oh my honor,” Berenger said with a quiet laugh. “No funny business, I swear. He should be with family, Clarisse.”

Instead of answering she looked back down, smoothing her fingers through Alfonse’s sandy blond hair. Eventually she closed her eyes with a pained sigh and reached out blindly to grip Berenger’s shoulder.

“Alright, Berry,” she said at last, quiet and grateful. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if "canned croissants" are just an American thing or if it's universal, but in case you're wondering wtf that is, it's this- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gwMgsY3dyo


	22. too busy sleeping around to cause trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to business! Just a quick reminder that we're back to Ancel POV on the morning after the publishing party :)

* * *

Ancel woke surprisingly clear headed after how much he’d had to drink the night before. He supposed those were the perks of expensive wine and generous portions of canapes. He was in an excellent mood, considering, as he went for a leisurely shower.

Sure, Berenger had rebuffed his advances the previous night but in the most indecisive manner possible. He’d just have to find a different angle, which should be easy enough.

After putting his hair up in a messy bun he dressed in a pair of leggings and a simple oversized white shirt. Exactly the sort of thing he might wear after a wild night of fucking. He left the top few buttons suggestively undone as he padded down the stairs to the kitchen.

Berenger was already up and in the process of cooking omelets. Sadly the casual pajamas were nowhere to be seen- he was back in his slacks and shirt. Either because he was afraid of encouraging Ancel’s advances or because the others were scheduled to come home soon. Ancel chose to think it was the latter as he yawned loudly and took a seat at the kitchen island.

“Good morning,” Berenger said without turning.

“Morning,” Ancel echoed. There was a gold box on the counter and he pulled it closer. “What’s this?” he asked as he opened it. There were chocolates inside- perfect individually decorated truffles. The chocolates from the limo that he’d forgotten about during the bustle of the previous night.

Ancel smiled as he picked out a pink one dusted with white chocolate shavings. Berenger turned just as Ancel slipped it into his mouth with an exaggerated moan. He couldn’t help the self satisfied smirk as Berenger’s gaze lingered on his lips, the messy tendrils of hair framing his face, the haphazardly unbuttoned collar of his white shirt.

“You’ll spoil your appetite,” Berenger said, setting a carafe of coffee on the counter along with two cups and the cream and sugar.

“So it’ll be as spoiled as the rest of me,” Ancel said, reaching to fix himself a cup. There was a shivering tension in the air that felt electric. They didn’t speak much as they ate and Ancel wondered if maybe Berenger was thinking about the previous night just as much as Ancel was.

As he helped clean up, washing the pan in the sink while Berenger loaded the dishwasher, it was so easy to imagine turning, reaching out with wet hands. Tangling his fingers in Berenger’s shirt to pull him closer, angling his face up for a kiss. The kiss would taste of coffee and chocolate, Berenger’s freshly-shaven cheek would be smooth and warm under his hand.

In the bright light of day, standing in the kitchen, Ancel found he couldn’t quite summon the courage. Before he knew it Berenger finished and retreated to the library, turning on the TV and settling on the couch.

There was no more grading to do, no work of any sort. Ancel was drawn after him as if by a magnet, sprawling out on the other side of the couch while Berenger turned on some show he hardly paid attention to. Ancel stretched languidly before settling, his shirt riding up to reveal a tantalizing strip of skin. It was useless- Berenger was made of stone. He was the most ridiculous man Ancel had ever met.

As Ancel pondered how to actually get Berenger to make a move, he heard footsteps coming up to the front door and the key in the lock.

He sat up just as Alfonse ran in to give Berenger and then Ancel a big hug. His hair was wild and bleached brighter by the sun, his skin glowing with a healthy tan. Clarisse followed after him, looking equally tan and relaxed.

Ancel listened to Alfonse’s excited retelling of his camping trip while Berenger spoke to Clarisse. 

It looked like their private little spring break was over.

* * *

Classes resumed as normal, along with everything else. Suddenly Berenger was busy again, oddly formal like he was trying to rebuild boundaries that had long-ago eroded. In a desperate bid to get Berenger to just _look_ at him Ancel started practicing yoga in the backyard in the evenings, making sure Berenger had an excellent view of his ass in tiny lycra shorts from his office window.

He couldn’t tell if it was working or not, other than improving the flexibility he’d lost when he’d stopped dancing. So at least it wasn’t completely useless.

“What are you doing?” Laurent asked one evening two weeks into Ancel’s daily routine, walking out into the back yard with a book.

“Yoga,” Ancel said, dropping into a deep stretch. “What do you want?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Laurent sit in one of the wicker chairs around the empty fire pit. He shrugged. “Berenger took Alfonse out to the bakery to pick out desert for tonight. He says if you want anything in particular, text him.”

“Ugh,” Ancel said, abandoning the stretch in favor of laying flat on the ground and staring up at the sky. “He’s not _here?_ Then why am I even doing this?”

“For exercise?” Laurent ventured.

Ancel threw him a venomous look.

Laurent blinked. “Oh.”

Ancel was expecting some sort of lecture about how he wasn’t allowed to break Berenger’s heart but Laurent just opened his book and pretended to read.

“What,” Ancel said flatly.

“What?” Laurent repeated, not even looking at him.

“There’s something you want to say, so say it.” Ancel sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. He was wearing a very tight and very sexy tank top, apparently for no reason. It was a warm spring but it was still chilly in the late afternoons and he couldn’t help shivering.

“It’s just-” Laurent started, glancing over at him. “It’s not going to work. Not while you’re- _you.”_

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Ancel demanded. “What’s wrong with me?” He was beautiful and sexy and he already knew Berenger wanted him. He could see it. Hell, a blind man could see it. But instead of doing something about it he just ran away whenever Ancel tried to make his own desire clear.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ with you,” Laurent said, rolling his eyes in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Nicaise. “It’s just- he’s never going to step over that line. Not while. Well.” Laurent waved his hand vaguely towards Ancel, the yard, the house.

“Oh, what do _you_ know,” Ancel said, standing up in a huff. “You couldn’t even get yourself laid until I came along.”

Instead of rising to the bait Laurent just shrugged and pointedly turned back to his book, a smile playing over his lips. Ancel scoffed, even more annoyed, and went to change into real clothes.

At least Laurent hadn’t been entirely useless. Ancel knew exactly what he had to do now.

* * *

The semester slowly drew to a close without incident. The only noteworthy thing that happened was Ancel catching Kallias and Erasmus making out in the classroom after hours, which was no more or less than exactly what he was expecting. Erasmus turned a fetching shade of pink and stammered out an excuse while Kallias glared and tightened his grip possessively over the blonde’s thigh like Ancel was about to walk over there and make out with him himself.

Ancel rolled his eyes and closed the door.

With a few weeks to go until the end of the semester, summer plans were the talk of the house. Apparently Berenger spent summers at his family home in Varenne. He made it clear that Ancel was invited when it first came up and Ancel gleefully accepted the invitation. A summer spent in some secluded castle up north? Lounging by the pool in tiny swimming trunks and pouting until Berenger agreed to put sunscreen on his back for him? It was the perfect setting for a seduction.

Of course, it seemed less ideal once he realized _everyone_ was going to be there, spoiling his dreams of lazy sunlit days and being the sole focus of Berenger’s attention.

Ancel wasn’t a quitter. He was Ancel Sanpelier, dammit, and once he set his mind on something he got it done.

Ancel made a point of going to a few of the parties at Damen’s frat and waiting until the giant animal was pleasantly tipsy before idly wondering how nice Ios was in the summer, and wouldn’t Laurent like to see the fabled city on the white cliffs.

“Laurent burns in about five seconds,” Damen said with a loose grin, waving for Nikandros to bring him another beer. He raised his eyebrows at Ancel in question, to which Ancel raised the bottle he’d been carefully nursing all night long.

“But I hear the moonrise over the ocean is breathtaking,” Ancel demurred, affecting a far-away look. “Oh,” he sighed, “imagine swimming nude under the stars… it would be so romantic.”

By the time Nikandros came around with fresh beers and a vaguely distrusting expression Damen was looking speculative rather than amused.

“What I wouldn’t give for a summer of love on the beach,” Ancel said dreamily.

“...I don’t know,” Damen said with a faint frown. “He never mentioned any interest in seeing Ios.”

“Oh, _Laurent_ hasn’t,” Ancel said, thinking quickly. “But it’s all Nicaise has been talking about for weeks now. He saw some youtube video about surfing and now he can’t shut up about it.” It was a bald faced lie but Damen didn’t have to know that. And anyway, surfing was exactly the sort of thing a degenerate like Nicaise would be into.

Or if not the surfing, then the beach girls. All Ancel would have to do was tell Nicaise Akielons went around topless and he’d back whatever lie Ancel wanted.

“You know how Laurent dotes on the kid,” Ancel said. By then he was worried he was laying it on a bit thick, but luckily Damen was thicker.

“Yeah,” Damen said, grinning so widely his dimple showed.

And with that, Laurent and Nicaise were taken care of. Auguste would probably be too busy sleeping around to cause trouble, and Ancel didn’t have a way of contacting him that wouldn’t be weird anyway.

The question of Alfonse and Clarisse remained, though dealing with their presence was a little more complicated. Ancel wasn’t about to manipulate Alfonse, that felt mean spirited at best, and he didn’t dare try with Clarisse. But she seemed to take any opportunity to spend time with him alone, so he was sure there was some terrifying multi-week camping trip in their future that would give Ancel plenty of chances to make his move.

Besides- with only a week left in the semester, he was out of time.

* * *

The last day of classes was an orgy of drunkenness that Ancel steered well clear of. He had no interest in accidentally stepping in a pile of puke like last year. Instead of going to dumb college parties he spent the afternoon at the mall with Nicaise, shopping for bathing suits while Nicaise picked out a surfboard. Ancel had no idea how he was planning on taking it to Ios in Damen’s convertible but he kept his mouth shut because for once it wasn’t his problem.

It took a whole week after the end of classes to finish grading Berenger’s finals, but soon enough the work was done and Ancel was helping load luggage into the SUV for the trip up north.

The trip took three days- Alfonse couldn’t resist a single roadside attraction and Berenger couldn’t resist Alfonse’s puppy dog eyes, looking at Ancel apologetically every time he pulled over at yet another exit. They went to a kid’s science museum in Arran and spent three hours wandering through caves in Chasteigne, where Berenger bought Alfonse an entire bag of useless shiny rocks. There were wild ponies in Toutaine, along with the world’s largest ball of twine and sprawling Ancient Artesian ruins that cost fifty sol a head for admission.

They finally reached Varenne around dinner time on the third day. Berenger had referred to his home as a _fort_ but to Ancel’s eyes it seemed as much of a castle as Aquitart had. Though where Aquitart was relatively compact, a collection of towers tucked into the mountains, the fort at Varenne was low and squat, situated in a giant valley overlooking sprawling fields and orchards.

As Berenger pulled up to the front entrance Ancel watched a rider on horseback approaching from one of the fields- Clarisse riding a giant gray horse. She waved and Alfonse laughed, waving back as he opened the door and ran towards her. Ancel could only watch in horror as the horse bore down on him, until Clarisse bent down to grab his outstretched hand and easily scooped him up to sit him in the saddle in front of her.

Berenger got out of the car too, so Ancel followed.

“Berry, Ancel,” Clarisse greeted them. “You’re late.”

“We had to stop to see the ponies,” Berenger said with a nod.

“Maman!” Alfonse said happily. “I got to ride them and feed them apples!”

“You can ride and feed the ponies we have here, too,” Clarisse said with an indulgent smile. “But I’m glad you had a nice trip.”

“I’m surprised Parsins hasn’t come out to greet us,” Berenger said.

“He’s running himself ragged getting your rooms ready,” Clarisse said. “Don’t worry, he’ll be along. I’ll have someone bring in your things, why don’t you go show Ancel around.” She made a clicking sound at the back of her throat and her horse turned back the way it had come. As easily as that, she rode off- Alfonse still in the saddle with her.

“An excellent idea,” Berenger said, turning to Ancel and making a gesture of invitation towards the door.

Ancel walked into the fort, Berenger following closely behind him. The entrance hall was austere, the walls and floor made of smooth polished stone. There were a few decorative touches- a painting on the wall, flourishes of decorative tile work, a vase of flowers in a stone niche. As they walked past and into a hallway Ancel saw that the fort had a restrained sort of elegance about it. It felt older than Aquitart, secure in its own grandeur without the need for elaborate tiles or tapestries.

As they walked through to what seemed to be a residential wing, the hallways grew narrower. There were rugs covering the floor, unobtrusive and quietly luxurious in muted colors. There were niches set into the walls containing plinths with no doubt expensive antiques. Ancel saw beautiful Akieolon vases and small statuettes carved of obsidian in the Patran style, along with an entire collection of gilded Vaskian scimitars.

“This is you,” Berenger said, stopping before a door. “Please feel free to ask any of the staff if there’s anything you need. I’ll see about finding Parsins and bringing your things up.”

“Alright,” Ancel said, giddy as he went to explore his suite.

It was larger than his rooms in Aquitart had been, though decorated with much more restraint. If anything it reminded him of Berenger’s bedroom back home- airy and open, quietly luxurious and somehow cozy at the same time. There was a fireplace on the wall opposite the bed, though there was no fire lit at the moment. Fresh flowers stood in a vase on a small dining table, and one wall was all glass behind pulled back curtains, leading to a patio.

Ancel walked out to find himself overlooking a sprawling well-manicured garden. There were flowers lining the gravel paths, all in neat right angles to each other like a series of interconnecting rectangles. In the center of it all was a giant pool surrounded by classy wicker furniture and even a few cabanas, their white linen curtains fluttering freely in the summer breeze.

Ancel grinned in anticipation. This was going to be perfect.

* * *

The first few weeks flew by quickly. Ancel met the illusive Parsins, an older man who seemed to have the air of a kindly uncle towards Berenger and Clarisse and utmost suspicion towards Ancel. He seemed to relax after a few days, either because someone had given him a talking to or because Ancel had managed not to steal or break anything in that time.

Meals were the only fixed points in the days, usually spent in the kitchens with Berenger and his family, along with most of the staff. The rest of the time was spent reading or lounging by the pool, playing silly board games with Alfonse. On one memorable occasion Berenger took Ancel on a tour of the vast stables. Ancel tried not to grimace at the smell as he picked his way across the straw until he looked up and saw a beautiful red speckled horse with a white mane and came to a stop with a gasp.

“It’s Ruby!” he said.

“I- yes,” Berenger said with a faint frown of confusion. “How-”

“From your book!” Ancel said, stepping carefully closer. “Savin’s horse.”

“Oh,” Berenger said with a smile. “Yes. Would you like to ride her?”

Ancel looked back at him. He was pretty sure he didn’t manage to hide his look of abject horror.

“It’s not so bad,” Berenger said, stepping closer. “She’s a sweetheart.” He showed Ancel how to let her sniff his fingers and how to saddle her.

The actual riding lessons were terrifying, but it was time spent with Berenger alone and at least Ancel could soak the ache out of his muscles afterwards by lounging in the hot tub with a glass of sparkling wine.

Finally, with barely a month to go until the end of summer, Clarisse announced that she was taking Alfonse on a trip. Ancel managed not to act too giddy at the news, even though it was exactly what he’d been waiting for. He’d get to spend time with Berenger alone. They’d hang out by the pool in various states of undress and drink wine under the stars and then, finally, after all this time, Ancel would make his move and Berenger wouldn’t push him away.

Which was of course when Auguste showed up.

* * *

Ancel had put extra effort into dressing for dinner. He’d gone light on the make up like he suspected Berenger preferred and he’d pulled his hair back into a simple braid, a few tendrils falling loose to frame his face. Which was why he was extra disappointed when he showed up to dinner to see not only that there was no dinner- there was no Berenger either. Instead Auguste was standing in the kitchen drinking what smelled like whiskey out of a clay mug.

He was wearing tight black trousers and a shimmery blue shirt that was open nearly half way down his chest, and over it a blue cloak studded with golden stars.

“Hello,” Ancel said uncertainly, trying to make sense of Auguste’s outfit.

“Hey,” Auguste said with a grin.

“You’re… here,” Ancel said flatly. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been able to hide the annoyance in his tone but Auguste didn’t seem to notice.

“I wouldn’t miss the summer festival,” Auguste said. “You’re coming, right?” He held up the hand not holding the cup to show off a bright glittering mask shaped like a sunburst.

The momentary confusion was overshadowed by the more appealing knowledge that Auguste was _leaving._ Ancel opened his mouth to tell him that he wasn’t going anywhere, which was when Berenger walked in and pulled up short. He was dressed nicer than usual too, in a black shirt and black trousers. Had he dressed up for dinner? Ancel smiled at the thought. Maybe Berenger had been looking forward to alone time just as much as-

“Baba!” Auguste said brightly. “There you are. I thought I’d have to go hunt you down. You don’t want to miss the opening acts, do you? I hear there are fire dancers this year.”

“Right,” Berenger said with a faint wince. “The festival.”

“Come on,” Auguste said, hooking his arm through Ancel’s and then Berenger’s, tugging them towards the door.

“I really don’t think-” Berenger started to protest.

“You always complain but then you always enjoy it,” Auguste said matter-of-factly. “And anyway, you know Ancel will love it. Who doesn’t love a festival? Come on, the car is waiting outside.”

Ancel shared a look with Berenger before giving up. Maybe this would be fun too, whatever it was. At the very least he could figure out some way of getting rid of Auguste tomorrow.

The driver was one of the boys who worked in the stables and he seemed just as excited as Auguste. As he drove north towards one of the near-by towns he prattled on and on about the summer festival, which Ancel gathered was a celebration of some ancient pagan holiday that had gone out of style once Varenne was annexed by Vere hundreds of years ago.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up to a field outside a town, some sort of festival grounds. The stableboy ran off as soon as the car was parked but Auguste and Berenger took their time climbing out, Auguste putting on his mask while Berenger flagged down a passing vendor to buy two black carnival masks painted with whorls of gold glitter. He put one on before handing the other to Ancel.

“You didn’t mention it was a masquerade,” Ancel said, starting to feel properly excited now. The air was warm and smelled of spiced smoke, and Ancel could hear music somewhere close by. Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea to come after all.

“Varenne’s best kept secret,” Auguste said with a wink. “The locals are a bit stodgy most of the time but they know how to let loose when it counts.”

“We are not stodgy,” Berenger said mildly before Auguste was striding off towards the crowded festival and Berenger and Ancel had no choice but to follow.

Everyone wore masks, though some of the festival goers went a few steps further in their costumes. Ancel saw a woman dressed entirely in sheer lace talking to a man wearing a bear skin. A group of acrobats performed on a makeshift stage dressed only in strategically placed ribbons. There was a shocking amount of flesh on display for a Veretian party and Ancel couldn’t help gawking as they walked.

Auguste bought food and wine on the way towards the stage and they even managed to find decent spots to stand as the acrobats left to be replaced by three young men dressed up like firebirds who juggled lit torches and spit fireballs above the heads of the assembled crowd.

Ancel laughed and clutched at Berenger’s arm as he stared upwards, face warm from the flames. After the fire dancers came musicians and more wine and thankfully, finally, Auguste wandered off into the crowd distracted by a woman dressed as a wood fae, branches woven into her hair and a skirt of leaves wrapped around her waist.

“Teach me this dance,” Ancel said, watching as the townfolk fell into lines and bowed to each other like something out of a period drama.

“Alright,” Berenger said easily, leading Ancel to the cleared dance floor.

The dance was simple enough, though sadly it involved more clapping and spinning around than actual touching. There were other dances after, and when Ancel got tired they left and drank more wine as they walked around the vibrant marketplace past stalls selling brightly colored masks and ribbons and paper bags of candied fruits and nuts. Some of the townsfolk recognized Berenger and came over for short bouts of friendly conversation, and through it all the air was filled with music and joy.

Eventually Ancel had to stifle a yawn, the drink and the late hour getting to him.

“We’ll head back soon,” Berenger said when he noticed. “After the fireworks.”

“Fireworks,” Ancel said with a laugh. He was lucky to see fireworks once a year, on Unification Day celebrating the ancient alliance between Vere and Akielos. The past few years he’d been too busy working- holidays had a way of bringing lonely men into the club. “I wouldn’t want to miss them. But the wine is going right through me. Where…?”

“Bathrooms are over there,” Berenger said, pointing. “It’ll start soon, hurry back.”

Ancel smiled before heading towards the small building Berenger had pointed out. Once he was finished he went back to the festival grounds, pulling up short when he saw Berenger standing at the edge of the dancing, watching with a soft smile as a group of kids laughed and chased each other around. He looked so handsome in the moonlight that for a long moment Ancel was frozen.

Someone bumped into Ancel’s back and the moment was broken. He blinked slowly as a young woman passed by, selling silk masks and flowers out of a basket. She paused and smiled as she caught his eye.

“Would you care for a flower, monsieur?”

“No, but…” Ancel paused. The top mask in her basket was painted to resemble the face of a fox. He could hear Laurent’s words echoing in his head- _it’s not going to work. Not while you’re-_ you.

“How much for the fox mask?” Ancel asked.

“Twenty sol, monsieur,” the girl said easily.

Ancel managed a smile as he paid her and switched out his plain black mask for the fox. His heart was pounding as he made his way towards Berenger, still watching the dancing completely oblivious to anything else. Between one moment and the next Ancel was beside him. He still had time to stop, to not do this.

Instead he reached out and set his right hand on Berenger’s upper arm.

Berenger startled, turning towards him. Ancel used his free hand to take hold of Berenger’s collar and leaned up to press their lips together.

He was so nervous he could barely feel it, screwing his eyes shut. There was a moment of pressure and warmth and Ancel didn’t know if the shiver that ran down his spine was from fear or desire. Berenger’s lips parted in surprise and then he was pushing Ancel back with a frown, clearly confused.

“I’m sorry, I-” he started. And then his eyes widened in recognition.

Ancel could only stare at him, his lips tingling from their brief and clumsy kiss. The music was faint and far away now, second to the way Ancel’s heart was pounding, the harsh sound of his own breathing ringing through his ears. Berenger wasn’t moving closer, and he wasn’t moving away.

Slowly Ancel leaned in towards him, tightening his grip on Berenger’s collar. When he licked his lips Berenger’s eyes followed the motion and Ancel leaned in to close the distance once more.

It was softer the second time. Ancel pressed closer, deepening the kiss and sliding his hands around Berenger’s neck, standing on his toes and tilting his head for a better angle. And then Berenger wrapped his arms around Ancel’s waist and pulled him closer and it was so much _better._

It had been a long time since Ancel had kissed anyone. And even then, he’d been used to clumsy kisses from clumsy men who were more interested in _other_ things. As much as he’d been dreaming of this moment, suddenly he was entirely unprepared for it, surprised and unbalanced.

Berenger kissed like he meant it, like it was an act wholly unto itself rather than a brief stop on the way towards something he’d rather do more. He opened his mouth and Ancel couldn’t hold in a moan at the feeling of Berenger’s tongue sweeping over his bottom lip, into his mouth. He tasted of honey and wine and smelled of wood smoke. His chest was warm and firm against Ancel’s, his arms like hot steel. Ancel shivered as one of Berenger’s hands slid up his back to tangle in his hair, holding him as gently as he might hold a priceless artifact.

Ancel couldn’t help smiling against Berenger’s lips, giddy that this was happening, that Berenger was _kissing him back._

Somewhere in the distance there were quiet pops and the rising acrid smell of smoke, the delighted murmurs of the crowd. The fireworks must have started but Ancel didn’t care to drag himself away from Berenger's lips long enough to breathe, much less look.

“Berry, you’re- _oh!”_

Berenger stiffened and jerked away. Ancel came to his senses with a quiet gasp and turned to hide his face from Auguste, who’d come up to them without them noticing.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Auguste was saying even as Ancel fled into the crowd, his heart pounding. He didn’t know if Auguste had recognized him too, how much it would ruin things if he had. He felt unfairly furious at the interruption, at Auguste’s cock blocking ways.

Once he was sure he was out of sight he ripped the mask off and stuffed it into his pocket, pausing to catch his breath and press his fingers to his tingling lips. He couldn’t help replaying the kiss in his mind over and over again. He could still feel Berenger’s hand in his hair, Berenger’s mouth opening under his.

The fireworks were over and people were starting to leave. Ancel couldn’t wait any longer.

He schooled his face into a neutral expression as he made his way back, willing himself desperately not to blush as he saw Berenger and Auguste talking to each other. Berenger was blushing while Auguste was patting him on the back.

“There you are!” Auguste said, catching sight of Ancel and grinning. “You wouldn’t _believe_ what I caught Berry doing.”

So that answered the question of whether or not Auguste had recognized him.

“Oh?” Ancel asked with a wobbly smile. He couldn’t quite meet Berenger’s eyes, focusing on looking past Auguste’s shoulder instead.

 _“Auguste,”_ Berenger said quietly, though the word sounded oddly sharp.

“Oh alright,” Auguste said with a laugh, throwing an arm around Berenger’s shoulders and the other around Ancel’s, starting to steer them back towards the car. “We’d better be heading back anyway.”

He launched into the tale of his own recent escapades, filling the silence with easy chatter. When they made it to the car Ancel chanced a glance over at Berenger and their eyes met, locking for one shivering moment. Ancel bit his lower lip nervously, not sure what to do with himself now.

Berenger flushed bright red and looked down, awkwardly running a hand through his hair.

“Come on!” Auguste called out from inside the car. “The night’s not getting any younger!”

They didn’t look at each other during the ride back.


	23. something to remember me by

* * *

Berenger wasn’t at breakfast.

Ancel tried not to act too nervous about it as he made small talk with Auguste over pancakes.

“I’m heading out shopping today,” Auguste said as he finished up. “There’s a lovely little town out west and I wanted to pick up some gifts for the boys, if you wanted to come along.”

“I don’t know,” Ancel hedged, fiddling with his fork. “Is Berenger going?”

Auguste laughed. “Nah, he’s probably too busy sleeping off his hangover after last night.”

“Right,” Ancel said with a small smile. He knew for a fact that Berenger hadn’t had that much to drink last night. He wasn’t sleeping off a hangover- he was hiding. “I think I might take a nap too,” he said finally. “I might have overdone it.”

“Have it your way,” Auguste said with a shrug. “I’ll bring back a few knick-knacks for you too.” He winked before standing and turning to go, leaving Ancel sitting in the kitchen alone.

Ancel stared at his empty plate, wondering what Berenger was doing. It was nearly ten in the morning so there was no way he was still sleeping. He was probably hiding in his suite, reading Akielon poetry or working on his next novel. Maybe he was thinking about Ancel, about last night.

Maybe he was thinking about doing something horrible, like apologizing. Maybe he was working himself up into the entirely wrong sort of state.

Ancel decisively set down his fork and stood, pausing to glance at himself in the mirror hanging above the kitchen sink. He hadn’t bothered dressing other than throwing a robe over his silk pajamas. He hadn’t bothered with make up either, or doing his hair. It looked a bit wild as it fell to his shoulders in shining waves. He looked fresh-faced and determined.

And sexy, obviously.

Ancel flashed a grin at himself in the mirror and turned to leave, striding down the corridor to Berenger’s rooms with his robe billowing around him like a cloak. He paused only briefly in front of the door before pushing it open and walking inside like he owned the place.

Just as he’d thought, Berenger was looking perfectly well after last night, fully dressed as he sat at his writing desk in front of an ancient looking typewriter with pearl keys. He looked up at the interruption, his eyes widening.

“Hello,” Ancel purred as he made his way over. This was it. He was putting all his cards on the table in a final hail mary.

Berenger made as if to rise but Ancel pushed him down with a hand on his shoulder and straddled his lap as if he belonged there. As far as he was concerned, he did.

“Ancel,” Berenger said, his voice coming out strangled. And yet his hands moved to Ancel’s waist, warm and strong over his thin robe and even thinner camisole.

“Berenger,” Ancel said, still smiling. “Good morning.”

“I- ah,” Berenger stuttered uncertainly.

“I thought we’d continue where we left off last night,” Ancel said, leaning in for a kiss.

At the last second Berenger closed his eyes and turned away, leaning back as far as the chair would allow. “Ancel,” he said, firm this time. “We shouldn’t- we can’t.”

“We can,” Ancel said with a frown. “We already _have._ Do you want me to go get the mask?”

Berenger flushed, and still he refused to meet his eye. “We can’t,” he repeated.

 _“Why,”_ Ancel demanded, well and truly frustrated. He’d never had someone refuse him like this before. And they’d kissed, and it was wonderful. “I’m not your student anymore,” hesaid, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m not your assistant. I’m an adult, and I want you. And you want me. So _why-”_

“It wouldn’t be right,” Berenger said quietly, finally looking back at him. “I’m- you-”

“I’m _what,”_ Ancel said, unconsciously tightening his fingers into Berenger’s crisp white shirt.

“You live under my roof,” Berenger said, his expression painfully earnest. “I couldn’t- that would be taking advantage. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Oh,” Ancel said with a laugh. “Well. About that. Technically no, I don’t.”

Berenger frowned. “For the summer,” he said. “But once school starts again-”

“No,” Ancel said, laughing once more. “I thought Vannes would have told you, but apparently not.”

At Berenger’s puzzled expression he smiled and raised his hand to wipe away the worry lines forming over Berenger’s brow.

“I’m leaving,” Ancel said. “I took the RA position. I won’t be living with you anymore.”

Berenger’s face did something odd. His eyes widened slightly, his lips curled down. “Oh,” he whispered.

“Oh,” Ancel repeated. “There are only two weeks left until I have to go back for orientation. So you can waste that time pretending you don’t want me. Or…” he stroked the side of Berenger’s clean-shaven face before sliding his hand around his neck and brushing his fingers through Berenger’s hair. “Or,” Ancel whispered, leaning closer, “you can fuck me in every room of your castle.”

He leaned back to take in Berenger’s expression. His eyes were dark, his lips parted. If he didn’t make his move now then Ancel would have to storm out and probably cry, and-

Berenger tilted his face up and slid his hands up Ancel’s back, pulling him in, down.

Their lips met and Ancel couldn’t help a small gasp, his eyes falling closed of their own accord. The world narrowed to this room, this chair, the two of them together.

He moaned when Berenger’s lips opened under his, deepening the kiss. Even as he felt Berenger’s tongue in his mouth he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. But it was, finally, after all this time. Ancel couldn’t get enough.

It was so much better than the previous night. It was better without the masks, the uncertainty, all the people. Finally it was just the two of them, together, and everything was out in the open.

One of Berenger’s hands was buried in Ancel’s hair, holding tight, while the other roamed over his body- stroking his back and sides, his legs. He slipped his fingers under the hem of Ancel’s shorts, a brief touch that left Ancel’s skin tingling. He shivered, shifting closer to press their chests together, hard enough that the buttons of Berenger’s shirt dug into him, an odd reassurance that this was _happening._

Ancel moaned when Berenger’s hand cupped his ass, holding him so gently. Any other man would be gripping tight, yanking his clothes off in impatience. But of course Berenger simply smiled and pressed a final kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“What do you want?” he asked quietly.

“You,” Ancel said without thinking, more annoyed at the interruption than anything else.

Berenger smiled, squeezing Ancel’s ass a little. “No, I meant- what do you like?”

Ancel blinked, his mind oddly hazy. Sex had never been about what he liked so much as putting on a show for whatever boyfriend he was living off of at the time. He liked when the boyfriend in question wasn’t too rough and didn’t take too long. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure.

Berenger was waiting expectantly though, so Ancel needed to come up with an answer.

Funnily enough, when he thought about sex _he_ liked, the first things that came to mind were Berenger’s books. The way the characters were so tender with each other, so happy and excited for the moment they finally came together. But that was just a fantasy. Real sex wasn’t like that.

“I liked the scene between Raoul and Savin in the carriage,” Ancel teased, hoping that would be enough of an answer to get this moving back in the right direction.

Berenger laughed. “The carriage house is a bit far, but we could go there if you want.”

“Oh my god,” Ancel said, rolling his eyes. “Of course you have a _carriage._ You have a castle, and horses, so the carriage shouldn’t be a surprise.”

“It’s an antique,” Berenger said. “But I think Parsins keeps the leather polished. We could-”

“Shut up,” Ancel said with a laugh, wrapping his arms around Berenger’s shoulders and pressing his face to Berenger’s neck to inhale the warm comforting smell of him. He smelled of fresh air, and home, and of course- lemons. “Just take me to bed like a normal person.”

“Alright,” Berenger murmured before dropping his hands to support Ancel’s thighs and simply _standing_ like his weight was nothing.

Ancel yelped in surprise and tightened his arms around Berenger’s shoulders, his legs around Berenger’s hips. It was exhilarating to be carried so easily, and within moments he was being set down on Berenger’s soft bed with Berenger on top of him, kissing him again.

And lying down was even better somehow. It was so easy to curl towards Berenger’s body, into his arms, his touch. Somewhere in the haze of it all Ancel lost his robe and his top, and managed to get Berenger’s shirt unbuttoned while he was at it. He couldn’t help a shuddering gasp the first time their chests pressed together, skin against skin. It felt unbelievably good, better than it had ever been. Ancel wanted more, desperately. 

He gripped at Berenger’s arms, his shoulders, while Berenger kissed his way down Ancel’s neck and chest, lower. And then he paused inexplicably, fingers toying with the edge of Ancel’s shorts, obscenely strained over his erection.

“What-” Ancel breathed out, looking down to see Berenger watching him uncertainly.

“I just- are you sure?” Berenger asked.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ancel growled, shoving the shorts down himself. He barely had them halfway down his thighs before Berenger bent to take his cock in his mouth. Ancel gasped and melted into the sheets, too overwhelmed by the wet heat surrounding him to do anything useful.

“Fuck,” he whimpered as Berenger wrapped his hand around the base of Ancel’s cock, stroking him in time with the moment of his mouth. Ancel pressed a hand to his lips to try to stifle any undignified sounds that threatened to spill out. This wasn’t exactly his first blow job but Berenger’s single minded focus was something entirely new. He sucked cock like it was his favorite thing, making little sounds of pleasure and working his tongue, his hand.

“Oh fuck,” Ancel forced out, trying to push back his orgasm. “Fuck- stop. I won’t last. Just- come here.”

He urged Berenger back up his body with a tug on his hair and Berenger went easily, stroking Ancel’s sides as if to gentle him. His desire was clear but there was no urgency to the way he touched Ancel, as if every inch of skin was a new discovery to be savored.

“Do you always fuck like the characters in your books?” Ancel asked breathlessly.

Berenger only laughed and bent down to kiss him. Somehow he was still wearing pants, which was rather unfortunate. Ancel worked open the buttons and slipped a hand inside, flushing at the way Berenger sighed, his hips pressing closer involuntarily.

Ancel felt greedy for Berenger, for his touch, for every little sound he made- completely unselfconscious like it was just as easy for him to accept pleasure as it was to give it.

“Take off your pants,” Ancel ordered impatiently, pushing Berenger away and turning to search through the closest nightstand.

By the time he found the lube and turned back, Berenger was naked and waiting patiently. Perfect. Ancel grinned and straddled him, pouring lube over his fingers before reaching down to prepare himself.

“Let me,” Berenger started, but Ancel silenced him with a kiss. He didn’t think he could take any more of Berenger’s brand of tender lovemaking, so unlike anything he was used to. He couldn’t take waiting another second.

When he finally shifted to sink down onto Berenger’s cock he couldn’t help a gasp at the stretch, the heat. Berenger’s hands settled on his hips, steadying him as he worked his way down. It was too much and at the same time it was everything he wanted. For once he wasn’t worried about what he looked like, what he sounded like. All he could think about was the way his skin tingled everywhere Berenger touched him, the way Berenger looked up at him, pupils blown with arousal and something like wonder.

“Easy,” he murmured before taking hold of Ancel’s waist and shifting, moving easily to flip them over.

Ancel gasped as his back hit the sheets and Berenger bent over him, taking his lips in a passionate kiss as he took Ancel by the back of the knees, pushing his legs up and spreading them further open.

Ancel’s breath caught in his throat as the angle shifted and he saw stars. He moaned, wrapping his arms around Berenger’s shoulders to pull him closer.

“Alright?” Berenger asked.

“Well don’t _stop,”_ Ancel bit out, annoyed. He shifted restlessly and Berenger finally started fucking him in earnest and everything else faded away.

It was all Ancel could do to keep hold of Berenger’s shoulders, panting against his neck and trying to hold back his needy moans. And then he couldn’t even do that, too lost in the pleasure of Berenger on top of him, inside of him, moving so perfectly that Ancel didn’t even need to touch himself to feel his orgasm coming inexorably closer with each moment. 

Distantly he was aware of Berenger murmuring sweet nonsense to him, his voice low and ragged, just as close to the edge as he was.

“Please,” Ancel managed to gasp, not sure what exactly it was he was begging for. Berenger figured it out somehow all the same. He sped up and Ancel screwed his eyes shut, clutching at Berenger’s shoulders as he felt his body tightening as he reached his peak.

 _“Ancel,”_ Berenger rasped out, quiet and oddly reverent, and Ancel cried out, his back arching against Berenger’s body against him. He came like that, completely untouched for the first time in his life. Berenger followed soon after, pausing for a long moment as he caught his breath before shifting away with a quiet groan.

Still faintly dizzy, Ancel turned and threw an arm over his heaving chest, easily fitting himself against Berenger’s side.

“Mm,” he hummed into the quiet room, shivering as his sweat started to cool. “Are you going to sleep? It’s not even noon.”

Berenger opened his eyes to look at him, shifting slightly to run his fingers through Ancel’s no doubt messy hair. “I wouldn’t mind a nap,” he said mildly.

Ancel laughed and moved to kiss him, marveling that he _could_ now. Marveling at how easily Berenger kissed him back, all of his protests finally melted away.

“Let’s have a bath,” Ancel said between kisses. “And then you can suck me off. And if you’re good you can fuck me again. Maybe I’ll let you nap after that.”

“Alright,” Berenger said with an easy smile.

* * *

Ancel wasn’t sure what Berenger did, but Auguste announced he was leaving the following day and then they had the castle to themselves. They didn’t quite manage to fuck in every room, but they did get around to the carriage in the carriage house, an experience that Ancel found himself somewhat disappointed with.

“I told you,” Berenger said with an apologetic smile afterwards, his skin damp and sticking to the leather seat. “Cramped.”

“Hm,” Ancel hummed, leaning into him and turning his head to encourage Berenger to pet his hair. As always, he obliged. “Fine. Let’s go back to your bedroom then. Or maybe that room on the third floor we haven't gotten to, the fifth door on the right.”

Berenger laughed. “That’s a storage room.”

Ancel pouted. “Bed, it is,” he said, moving to pull on his robe for a semblance of decency while Berenger got his own clothes back in order. 

Despite lazy afternoons lounging by the pool and heated nights spent fucking well into the early hours, the days slipped by unforgivingly fast. It seemed like no time at all had passed when Ancel found himself lying in Berenger’s arms the last night before he had to leave. He couldn’t help feeling silly and sentimental now that the summer was coming to an end.

Berenger seemed oddly quiet too. He’d been all smiles and banter for the past two weeks, like pulling back the curtain on something that Ancel had only been able to catch glimpses of before. But now he seemed far away as he stared up at the ceiling and meditatively carded his fingers through Ancel’s hair. 

It was well past midnight and Ancel had a train to catch in the morning. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to kiss Berenger good night and turn off the lamp. Berenger didn’t seem to be in any hurry either.

“I have a gift for you,” he said at last, and Ancel looked up to see a strangely small smile gracing his lips.

“A gift?” Ancel asked, shifting to let Berenger pull what was undeniably a velvet jewelry case out of the nightstand.

Ancel grinned, sitting up. “More of grand mama’s jewels?”

“No, I had this made custom for you,” Berenger said, handing the case over. “It was meant to be a graduation present, but-” he broke off and smiled that odd smile again. “I suppose there’s no sense waiting anymore.”

Ancel bit his lip in anticipation as he took the case, opening it slowly. He couldn’t help a gasp at the glittering cascade of diamonds inside. It was a bracelet that must have been worth more than his education. Hell, it might have been worth more than Berenger’s house, back at school.

“Oh,” Ancel breathed out, watching the dim light play out over the jewels. “Oh wow. It’s beautiful.”

“Something to remember me by,” Berenger said with a wry smile.

Ancel laughed and tackled him into the sheets, raining kisses all over his face. “Writers,” he muttered at last, once he was tucked into Berenger’s arms to sleep. “You’re all so dramatic.”

* * *

Ancel firmly declined Berenger’s offers of driving him back to school, asking him to take him to the station instead. Ancel managed to sneak one last kiss goodbye before he had to run or risk missing his train, and spent the entirety of the ride staring dreamily off into the distance as he stroked the bracelet hidden underneath one of his long sleeves.

Freshman orientation was uniquely horrible, equal parts hectic and boring. The freshmen were whiny and helpless and so painfully naive, like little bunnies let loose into the big bad world for the first time. Eight different boys asked him how to work the washing machines in the laundry rooms. _Eight._ And those were just the ones brave enough to ask. Ancel caught a particularly harried young man sneaking back to his room with a hamper full of awkwardly pink shirts.

Every time he found himself thinking Vannes had tricked him into hell, he reminded himself what he was getting in return for his noble sacrifice. He was getting enough credits to finish his double major by the end of the year. And best of all- he was getting Berenger. He was sure now that if he hadn’t taken the position, Berenger would have made him wait an entire _year_ before finally fucking him. Now that Ancel knew how good it was, the thought was unbearable.

The night before Berenger was due back Ancel couldn’t bring himself to sleep, too giddy at the thought of seeing him again. At least that made it easy to wake up at the crack of dawn so he could get ready.

He let himself into the house just before seven in the morning. At the first step into the entrance hall he knew something was wrong. There was an odd smell in the air, something acrid and burnt.

He hurried to the kitchen, not bothering to take off his shoes.

Berenger was standing over the stove, absently watching a pancake burn in the pan, spatula held in a loose grip. He was wearing a dressing gown, and he had a _beard._ Or not a beard, so much as stubble that had clearly gotten out of hand.

“What are you _doing,”_ Ancel hissed, moving the pan off the heat and turning off the burner while Berenger stared at him as if in disbelief. There were dark circles under his eyes. If Ancel didn’t know better, he would have assumed something horrible had happened. But Nicaise had kept up a steady stream of texts and photos, so Ancel knew everyone was alive and well as of last night, when Nicaise had sent a photo of him, Laurent, and Alfonse playing scrabble in the living room.

“Ancel,” Berenger said, blinking. “You’re- here.”

“Of course I’m _here,”_ Ancel said, carefully taking the spatula out of his hand and setting it on the counter. “I’m here for breakfast, obviously. Which clearly isn’t happening. What’s the _matter_ with you?”

Berenger opened his mouth. No words came out. He closed it again. And he was still staring at Ancel like a starving man looked at a feast.

“Oh my god,” Ancel said as he finally realized what had happened. “You _idiot.”_ He stepped forward and took Berenger’s face in his hands. The beard felt softer than he’d expected.

“You thought I was leaving you for good, didn’t you,” Ancel accused. “That’s what all the nonsense was about two weeks ago. The gift to remember you by, and the sad puppy face. You didn’t think I was coming back. Is that why you grew a depression beard?”

“Ancel,” Berenger rasped out, reaching out to set his hands on Ancel’s waist.

“I sort of have to live in the dorms to be an RA,” Ancel said with a smile, swaying towards him. “But you might have noticed I left most of my things here.” 

“I- I didn’t check.”

“You’re not getting rid of me so easily,” Ancel said. “I’m really spoiled now, you know. It’s all your fault.”

“Oh,” Berenger said, smiling a little now too. “Oh, good.”

Ancel couldn’t hold back any longer and leaned in to press their lips together. It felt a little funny with the way Berenger’s beard tickled his skin, but it was just as good as he remembered. Better, because it was real.

He wrapped his arms around Berenger’s shoulders and stood up on his toes to get closer, shivering as Berenger took him by the waist. They were pressed as close together as they could be while they still had clothes on and it was wonderful.

“Ew, gross!” Nicaise said from behind them and Ancel pulled away with a smile of regret. “You said you weren’t dating him!”

Ancel stepped out of Berenger’s arms and turned just in time for Alfonse to run down the stairs and barrel into him, hugging him tightly as he babbled on about his summer. From what Ancel could gather, Clarisse had gotten him a pet bunny- a real one.

Laurent followed soon after, still faintly pink after his summer spent in Ios. “Oh good,” he said when he caught sight of Ancel. “You’re here. Thank god.” He threw a pointed look at Berenger, who flushed and looked away.

“I’m here,” Ancel said with a grin. “Just in time for breakfast. Although…” he glanced back at the disaster still smoking faintly on the stove. “I think maybe this one time, we should just go out.”

  
  


_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a wild ride with this fic!!! I can't believe it's been going since June. That's like... 6 months @_@ Thanks for everyone who stuck around and commented, it's hugely appreciated <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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